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CROSS  AND  TOWER  OF  MON ASTERBOICE. 

(See  page 


ROMANTIC 
IRELAND 


By 

M.  F.  and  B.  McM.  Mansfield 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES 

vol.  ii.  :das77 

Illustrated  by 
BLANCHE  McMANUS  MANSFIELD 


Boston 

L.  C.  Page  &  Company 


MDCCCCV 


BOSTON  COLLEGE  LI  BRAKY 
CHESTNUT  HILL,  MASS. 


Copyright,  IQ04 
By  L.  C.  Page  &  Company 

(incorporated) 
All  rights  reserved 

Published  October,  1904 


COLONIAL  PRESS 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &>  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


Contents 


Volume  II. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  QUEENSTOWN,  CORK,  AND  BLARNEY      .  I 

II.  Glengarriff  and  Bantry  Bay  .      .  39 

III.  KlLLARNEY  AND  ABOUT  THERE     .         .  62 

IV.  Around  the  Coast  of  Limerick       .  84 
V.  The  Shannon  and  Its  Lakes    .      .  104 

VI.  Galway  and  Its  Bay  .      .      .  .129 

VII.    Achill  to  Sligo   161 

VIII.  The  Donegal  Highlands    .      .      .  194 
IX.  Londonderry  and  the  Giant's  Cause- 
way   207 

X.  Antrim  and  Down       •      .      .  .231 

XI.  The  Boyne  Valley      .       .      .      .  248 

XII.  Belfast  and  Armagh  ....  290 


List  of  Illustrations 


Volume  II. 


PAGE 

Cross  and  Tower  of  Monasterboice  (See 

page  25Q)       .....  Frontispiece 

Queenstown  Harbour  3 

Shandon  Church  Tower        ....  9 

Cork  13 

An  Old-style  Irish  Car      •      .      .  .19 

A  Modern  Irish  Car  23 

Blarney  Castle  31 

gougane  barra  35 

Bantry  Bay  41 

Glengarriff  Bay  51 

Hungry  Hill    .      .       .    .  .      .      .  .55 

klllarney  and  about  there  ...  63 
St.  Finian's  Oratory,  Innisfallen  .  .  65 
On  the  Road  from  Cork  to  Kerry  .  .  69 
Cloisters  of  Muckross  Abbey  73 

The  Eagle's  Nest  77 

Ross  Castle  81 

The  Gap  of  Dunloe  85 

The  Black  Valley  89 

vii 


viii 


List  of  Illustrations 


PAGE 

Valentia  93 

The  Skelligs  Rocks  97 

Limerick  Castle  101 

The  Shannon  and  Its  Lakes       •      .      .  105 

Kincora     .      .      .  107 

An  Irish  Piper  11 1 

The  Stone  of  the  Divisions,  Westmeath  .  117 
Athlone  Castle      .       .       .      .  .121 

Claddagh  .  135 

Judge  Lynch's  House,  Galway  .  .  .  141 
The  Church  of  the  Canons,  Aran      .  .155 

Achill  Island  .  .163 

Cathedral  Caves,  Achill     .      .      .  .171 

In  Connemara  175 

Kylemore  Castle  179 

Killary  Harbour  183 

A  Detail  of  Sligo  Abbey      .      •      .  .191 

Donegal  Castle  197 

Lake  of  Shadows,  Donegal  ....  203 

Derry  .  209 

The  Honeycomb,  Giant's  Causeway  .  .217 
Carrick-  a-  Rede  227 


Grave  of  St.  Patrick,  Downpatrick  .  .  241 
The  Stone  of  Destiny,  Tara       .      .  .255 

Trim  261 

The  Round  Tower,  Kells     ....  267 


The  Cross  of  Kells   271 

Crosses  of  Clonmacnois,  Donegal,  Slane, 

and  Moone  Abbey    .....  275 

Holy  Well,  Kells   279 


Romantic  Ireland 


CHAPTER  I. 

QUEENSTOWN,  CORK,  AND  BLARNEY 

UEENSTOWN  has  been  called  a  mere 


appendage  to  its  harbour,  and,  truly,  it 
is  a  case  of  the  tail  wagging  the  dog,  though 
the  residents  of  Cork  will  tell  you  it  is  Cork 
Harbour,  anyway,  and  Queenstown  is  noth- 
ing but  a  town  that  was  made  by  the  American 
War  of  Independence,  and  by  the  emigration 
rush  that,  during  the  past  sixty  years,  has  de- 
prived Ireland  of  more  than  half  her  popula- 
tion. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  harbour  dwarfs  every- 
thing else  about  the  town.  Above  the  enor- 
mous expanse  of  sheltered  water,  the  little 
town  piles  itself  up  on  the  overhanging  cliffs, 


i 


2 


Romantic  Ireland 


pink  houses,  yellow  houses,  white  houses,  like 
a  veritable  piece  of  Italy.  It  is  always  warm 
here,  or  almost  always.  In  the  winter  time, 
the  temperature  is  seldom  severe,  and,  in  the 
summer,  it  is  one  of  the  finest  yachting  centres 
in  the  United  Kingdom. 

The  "  Beach  "  of  Queenstown  is  truly  Irish, 
since  it  is  not  a  beach  at  all,  but  a  fenced  street 
full  of  shops,  occupying  the  place  where  a  nar- 
row strand  once  ran. 

Time  was  when  Galway  was  a  rival  to 
Queenstown  for  the  honour  of  being  the  link 
which  was,  by  the  emigrant  chain,  to  bind  the 
Old  World  to  the  New;  but  now  the  honour 
is  Queenstown's  alone. 

If  tears,  —  the  bitterest  ever  shed  on  earth, 
the  hopeless  tears  of  lonely  aged  parents  part- 
ing from  their  cherished  offspring;  of  man's 
love  leaving  woman's  love  thousands  of  miles 
behind  across  the  seas ;  of  friend  clasping  the 
hand  of  friend  perhaps  for  the  last  time;  of 
brothers  and  sisters  parting  from  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  all  from  the  land  that  the  Irishman 
loves  as  he  loves  his  own  life,  —  if  such  tears 
as  these  could  quench  the  myriad  of  fairy  lights 
that  sparkle  on  the  great  harbour  at  dusk, 


Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney  5 

Queenstown  would  doubtless  be  the  darkest 
citjr  in  all  the  world. 

Queenstown  is  drenched  in  tears;  the  air 
still  quivers  inaudibly  with  the  waitings  that 
have  filled  it  through  day  after  day  of  half  a 
century  or  more  of  bitter  partings.  Thousands 
have  left  Ireland  every  year  from  these  quays, 
"  the  torn  artery  through  which  the  country's 
best  blood  drains  away  year  by  year."  To 
see  an  emigrant-ship  cast  loose  from  the  quay 
and  steam  out  of  the  harbour  is  a  sight,  once 
witnessed,  that  will  never  be  forgotten;  that 
will  haunt  one's  very  dreams  in  years  to  come. 

Until  1849  Cove  was  the  name  of  the  city, 
but  during  a  visit  of  Queen  Victoria  here  at 
that  time,  her  first  visit  to  Irish  soil,  the  name 
was  changed,  in  her  honour,  to  that  which  it 
now  bears. 

Cork  Harbour,  to  most  travellers,  is  little 
more  than  a  memory;  but,  in  reality,  it  is 
one  of  those  beautiful  landlocked  waterways 
which,  for  sheer  beauty  and  grandeur,  is,  in 
company  with  Bantry  Bay  and  Dingle  Bay, 
which  are  less  known,  only  comparable  to  the 
fiords  of  Norway.  They  have  not  the  majesty 
or  expansiveness  of  many  of  the  latter;  but 


6  Romantic  Ireland 


they  have  most  of  their  attributes  more  subtly 
expressed.  Indeed,  Cork  Harbour  and  the 
river  Lee,  whose  waters  are  in  part  enfolded 
by  "  the  third  city  of  Ireland,"  Cork  (Corcaig, 
"  a  marshy  place  "),  are  unapproachable  in  all 
the  world  for  a  certain  subtle  charm  which  is 
perhaps  inexpressible  in  words. 

As  the  Lee  divides  and  encircles  the  city, 
it  well  illustrates  Spenser's  lines: 

"  The  spreading  Lee  that  like  an  Island  Fayre, 
Encloseth  Cork  with  his  divided  flood." 

Even  the  present-day  aspect  of  Cork  Har- 
bour and  the  estuary  of  the  river  Lee  from  the 
heights  of  Queenstown  is  one  of  the  fairest 
blendings  of  sea  and  shore  anywhere  to  be 
seen. 

Spike  Island,  with  its  convict  establishment; 
Haulbowline,  with  its  naval  establishment; 
Rocky  Island,  with  its  powder  magazine; 
Crosshaven  Ring;  and  Rostellan  Castle  at 
once  attract  notice;  and  the  eye  roams  with 
pleasure  over  a  charming  scene,  enlivened  with 
shipping  of  all  kinds  and  from  all  ports,  from 
the  humble  lugger  to  the  steam-collier,  and, 
finally,  the  ocean  leviathans,  which,  in  our 


Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney  7 

strenuous  times,  have  become  known  as  "  rec- 
ord-breakers." 

Into  Cork  Harbour  Sir  Francis  Drake  re- 
treated when  hotly  pursued  by  the  Spanish 
fleet.  He  was  so  effectually  hidden  in  Carri- 
galine  River,  above  the  village  of  Crosshaven, 
that  the  Spaniards  spent  several  days  in  fruit- 
less search  for  him,  and  the  spot  is  still  known 
as  Drake's  Pool.  About  four  miles  away  is 
the  fort-defended  entrance  to  this  spacious 
harbour.  Old  Ocean  seems  in  some  freakish 
humour  to  have  struck  his  broad  palm  against 
the  barrier-strand,  pushed  his  watery  fingers 
into  the  soil,  and  clutched  at  the  rocks  with 
his  foam-white  nails. 

From  its  charming  situation  and  equability 
of  climate,  Queenstown  is  one  of  the  best 
places  in  Ireland  to  encounter  to  their  fulness 
the  charms  of  Ireland's  lovely  daughters.  This 
fact  has  been  somewhat  unduly  enlarged  upon 
in  the  past,  it  is  true,  but  theirs  is  a  rare  and 
gracious  beauty,  and  it  is  a  general  trait,  so 
that  there  is  a  good  excuse  for  introducing 
the  subject  once  again.  Some  are  here  with 
such  a  rosy  gladness ;  such  an  eglantine  beauty- 
bloom  ;  such  dark  hair  and  flashing  eyes,  soul- 


8 


Romantic  Ireland 


stirring  and  beaming  with  goodness ;  such  a 
graceful  mien  and  frankness  of  manner, 
blended  with  a  quiet  reserve;  and,  altogether, 
such  a  kindly  air  about  them  as  to  fully  merit 
any  eulogy  which  has  been  bestowed  upon 
Irish  women.  One  is  not  surprised  at  their 
being  addressed  by  such  mellifluous  epithets  as 
"  Cushla  machree,  asthore,  mavourneen! " 
These  are  endearments  which  certainly  sound 
appropriate  to  all,  whatever  be  the  subtle  shade 
of  distinction. 

Entrance  to  Cork  via  the  river  Lee  gives 
prominence,  first  of  all,  to  Shandon's  square 
church  tower,  of  whose  bells  sang  Father 
Prout : 

"  The  bells  of  Shandon,  that  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters  of  the  River  Lee." 

Shandon  Church  is,  for  itself,  decidedly 
worth  seeing,  though  by  no  stretch  of  the 
imagination  could  it  be  called  a  beautiful 
structure.  Up  a  long  hill  and  up  two  flights 
of  stone  steps,  one  climbs  to  the  quiet  little  old 
gray  church,  built  in  1720,  with  its  spiring 
tower  and  sounding  peal  of  eighteenth-century 


SHANDON  CHURCH  TOWER 


Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney  n 

bells.  Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty  is  the  date 
cast  on  each  of  the  eight. 

St.  Anne  Shandon,  or  Sean-dun,  signifying 
"  the  old  fort,"  is  situated  on  Shandon  Hill, 
and  is  really  a  suburb  of  Cork.  Its  fame,  in 
the  minds  of  most,  reverts  to  Father  Prout's 
world-famous  lyric,  "  The  Bells  of  Shandon." 
If  "  in  the  mood,"  the  listener  will  experience 
much  the  same  emotions  as  are  set  forth  in 
those  pleasing  stanzas.  If  not,  as  with  most 
other  things  which  have  been  similarly  eulo- 
gized, the  traveller  will  condemn  it  as  mere 
hollow  sentiment  and  "  bosh."  But  the  latter 
will,  likely  enough,  not  prove  to  be  the  case. 

The  church  was  erected  on  the  site  of  the 
old  Church  of  Our  Lady,  or  St.  Mary  Shan- 
don, a  very  ancient  edifice,  destroyed  at  the 
burning  of  the  suburbs  at  the  siege  of  Cork 
by  Marlborough  in  1690.  In  the  decretal 
epistles  of  Pope  Innocent  III.,  it  is  mentioned 
as  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  in  the  Mountain. 
In  1536,  the  rector  of  St.  Mary's,  one  Dom- 
inick  Tyrrey,  was  elevated  to  the  see  of  Cork, 
of  which  he  was  the  first  Protestant  bishop. 
The  Rev.  Francis  Mahony  ("  Father  Prout  "), 
though  he  spent  much  of  his  life  abroad,  is 


12 


Romantic  Ireland 


buried  in  the  churchyard  in  the  family  vault 
at  the  foot  of  the  tower. 

The  tower,  or  steeple,  which  contains  the 
celebrated  bells,  is  of  unique  construction.  It 
consists  of  a  tower  and  lantern  (170  feet  high) 
of  three  stories  each.  Two  sides  of  the  steeple, 
west  and  south,  are  built  of  limestone,  and 
two,  north  and  east,  of  red  stone. 

The  chime  of  bells  itself  does  not  take  a  high 
rank  among  campanologists,  since  it  is  not 
very  excellent  either  in  voice  or  power.  Still, 
given  certain  conditions,  one  may  well  realize 
Mahony's  (Father  Prout's)  sentiments: 

11  With  deep  affection 
And  recollection 
I  often  think  on 

Those  Shandon  bells, 
Whose  sound  so  wild  would 
In  the  days  of  childhood, 
Fling  round  my  cradle 

Their  magic  spells. 

"  I  have  heard  bells  chiming 
Full  many  a  clime  in, 
Tolling  sublime  in 

Cathedral  shrine ; 
While  at  a  glib  rate 


Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney     1 5 


Brass  tongues  would  vibrate, 
But  all  their  music 

Spoke  nought  like  thine." 

In  the  little  cemetery  of  the  monastery  of  the 
Christian  Brothers,  near  by,  rest  the  remains 
of  Gerald  Griffin,  the  novelist  and  poet,  author 
of  "  The  Colleen  Bawn." 

The  history  of  Cork  is  too  vast  to  chronicle 
here,  but  its  interest  lies  rather  with  the  more 
or  less  fragmentary  recollections,  which  all 
of  us  have,  of  the  traditions  and  legends  of  its 
environment. 

In  the  ninth  century  Cork  was  frequently 
plundered  by  the  Danes,  who,  in  1020,  founded, 
for  purposes  of  trade,  the  nucleus  of  the  pres- 
ent city.  At  the  time  of  the  English  invasion 
it  was  the  capital  of  Desmond,  King  of  Mun- 
ster,  who  did  homage  to  Henry  II.,  and  re- 
signed the  city  to  him.  For  receiving  Perkin 
Warbeck,  the  pretender  to  the  throne  of  Eng- 
land, with  royal  honours  in  1493,  the  Mayor 
of  Cork  was  hanged,  and  the  city  lost  its  char- 
ter, which  was,  however,  restored  in  1609. 

During  the  civil  war,  Cork  held  out  for 
King  Charles,  but  its  garrison  was  ultimately 
surprised  and  taken. 


1 6  Romantic  Ireland 

When,  in  1685,  the  bigoted  and  cruel  Louis 
XIV.  revoked  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  Cork, 
though  a  Catholic  community,  opened  her 
friendly  arms  to  welcome  the  fugitive  sons 
of  France,  and  threw  around  them  the  mantle 
of  her  protection. 

The  name  of  St.  Finbarr,  the  first  Bishop 
of  Cork,  is  so  commonly  referred  to  in  con- 
nection with  Southern  Ireland  that  it  is  per- 
haps allowable  to  extract  and  reprint  here, 
from  Butler's  "  Lives  of  the  Saints,"  the  lead- 
ing events  of  his  life: 

"  Called  by  some  St.  Barrus,  or  Barroeus, 
he  was  a  native  of  Connaught,  and  instituted 
a  monastery  at  Lough  Eire,  which  lake,  said 
the  antiquarian  Harris,  was  the  hollowed  basin 
in  which  the  greater  part  of  the  city  of  Cork 
now  sits.  From  this  monastery  and  its  imme- 
diate surroundings  grew  up  the  present  city  of 
Cork.  St.  Finbarr's  disciple,  St.  Colman, 
founded  the  see  of  Cloyne,  of  which  he  be- 
came first  bishop.  St.  Nessan  succeeded  St. 
Finbarr  at  the  monastery  and  built  the  town 
of  Cork.  (This  saint,  too,  is  honoured,  locally, 
on  the  17th  of  March  and  1st  of  December.) 

"  The  name  under  which  St.  Finbarr  was 


Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney  17 

baptized  was  Locahan,  the  surname  Finbarr, 
or  Barr  the  White,  was  given  to  him  after- 
ward. He  was  Bishop  of  Cork  seventeen  years, 
and  died  at  Cloyne,  fifteen  miles  distant.  His 
body  was  buried  in  his  own  cathedral  at  Cork, 
which  bears  his  name,  and  his  reliques,  some 
years  after,  were  put  in  a  silver  shrine  and  pre- 
served in  the  same  edifice." 

The  Abbey  of  St.  Finbarr  was  a  veritable 
outpost  of  Christianity.  Dungarvan  owes  its 
name,  and  Waterford  its  Christianity,  to 
Brother  Garvan  of  this  abbey;  while  Brother 
Brian  became  the  patron  of  St.  Brienne  in 
France. 

Cork  University  was  a  glorious  institution 
in  its  time,  and  many  who  had  no  prejudices  in 
favour  of  Ireland  have  endorsed  its  virtues 
from  the  times  of  Johnson  to  those  of  New- 
man, Hallam,  and  Macaulay. 

After  the  fall  of  the  Western  Roman  Em- 
pire the  schools  and  the  abbeys  of  Ireland 
became  famous.  "  Hither  fled  the  timid  for 
safety,  and  the  leisured  for  learning."  Stu- 
dents came  from  all  lands  and  teachers  went 
out  to  all  lands. 

England's  Alfred  came  here  to  study,  and 


1 8  Romantic  Ireland 

Charlemagne  drew  his  teachers  from  this 
"  school  of  the  West,"  as  it  was  afterward 
called  by  Johnson. 

One  ancient  scrivener  writes  that  at  this 
period  nearly  all  the  learned  were  under  the 
influence  of  Ireland.  The  great  universities 
of  Oxford,  Paris,  and  Pavia,  if  not  actually  of 
Irish  inception,  were  greatly  indebted  to  the 
learning  which  spread  forth  from  the  Green 
Isle.  There  is  scarcely  a  Continental  centre  of 
learning,  from  Palermo  to  Bruges,  or  from 
Grenada  to  Cologne,  where  some  Irish  saint, 
patron,  or  monkish  scholar  is  not  known  and 
revered. 

Cork  should  be  endeared  to  Americans  by 
reason  of  the  association  with  the  city  of  two 
whose  names  will  never  be  forgotten  —  Will- 
iam Penn,  the  Quaker,  and  Father  Mathew, 
the  great  temperance  advocate. 

In  proof  of  the  successful  labours  of  the 
latter,  a  great  writer  of  his  time  stated  that 
not  a  single  instance  of  drunkenness  came 
under  his  observation  during  a  sojourn  of 
some  weeks  in  Southern  Ireland.  It  is  a  happy 
change  from  the  rollicking  recklessness  of  the' 
ould  Ireland  of  the  fictionists  and  comic-song 


V 


An  Old-Style  Irish  Car 


Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney  21 

writers,  which,  let  us  hope,  has  gone  for  ever, 
if  it  ever  existed.  Father  Mathew  is  buried 
here,  in  St.  Joseph's  Cemetery,  and  a  bronze 
statue  to  his  memory  stands  in  Patrick  Street. 

Cork  is  a  picturesque  and  interesting  old 
city.  Its  churches  are  mostly  modern;  but 
St.  Finbarr's  Cathedral  stands  on  the  site  of 
a  very  old  and  famous  church,  and  is  itself  a 
fine  building. 

Cork  is  one  of  the  principal  places  where 
the  genuine  Irish  cloak  is  at  home,  and  most 
picturesque  it  is,  though  few  of  the  younger 
women  of  to-day  affect  it.  For  the  most  part, 
the  girls  wear  the  universal  shawl,  draped  over 
head  and  shoulders.  The  cloaks  worn  by  the 
matrons  and  elderly  women  are  great  full- 
length  wraps  of  a  black  or  dark-blue  cloth, 
with  a  wide  hood.  Rumour  has  it  that  they 
cost  from  five  to  ten  pounds  apiece,  and  last, 
literally,  from  generation  to  generation,  being 
sometimes  passed  down  as  an  heirloom  from 
mother  to  daughter  for  half  a  century.  There 
is  a  factory  for  the  manufacture  of  these  capes 
at  Blarney,  not  far  from  the  celebrated  castle, 
and  the  product  finds  a  large  sale  among  lady 
visitors  who  like  to  spin  along  the  roads  at 


11 


Romantic  Ireland 


thirty  miles  an  hour,  and  feel  it  unbecoming 
to  wear  the  hideous  motor-cap  and  mask  of 
fashion. 

Cork  abounds  in  "cars"  of  all  degrees  of 
decrepitude  and  luxuriousness.  The  Irish 
jaunting-car  is  much  more  a  real  accessory 
of  Irish  life  than  the  shillalah  or  the  sham- 
rock •  In  Wicklow  one  finds  the  cars  more 
numerous  than  elsewhere;  in  the  west  they 
are  the  most  decrepit,  and  in  Dublin  the 
most  luxurious;  but  in  Cork,  of  all  centres  of 
population,  they  appear  to  be  the  most  in  use. 

There  has  been  considerable  fun  poked  at 
them  They  are  certainly  not  beautiful,  com- 
fortable, or  magnificent,  and  their  drivers,  like 
the  "jarvies,"  "cabbies,"  and  "  cochers  of 
other  lands,  are  a  species  apart  from  all  other 
humanity. 

In  some  parts  of  the  country  it  is  compulsory 
that  the  name  of  its  owner,  usually  the  driver, 
be  legibly  written  on  the  tailboard  of  every 
car  This  led  to  the  story  which  Punch,  it 
it  did  not  invent,  at  least  promulgated,  that 
an  inspector,  who  asked  Pat  what  he  meant  by 
having  his  name  o-bliterated,  was  me  with 
the  reply:  "  Ye  lie,  sor;  it's  O'Brien. 


A  (Mode)  u  in 


Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney  25 

There  are  two  distinct  varieties  of  car  in 
Ireland,  quite  apart  from  the  tourist  caravans, 
char-a-bancs,  and  omnibuses  in  which  visitors 
are  whirled  between  the  beauty-spots  of  Erin's 
leafy  glades.  The  characteristics  of  each  are 
plainly  noted  in  the  "  inside  cars "  of  Cork 
—  practically  extinct  elsewhere  —  and  the 
"  outside  cars." 

Seated  in  the  indescribable  native  vehicle  of 
Cork,  which  whirls  one  through  the  town  with 
unexpected  lightness  and  speed,  you  converse 
with  the  affable  driver  through  a  small  hatch- 
way, open  in  fine  weather  and  closed  in  wet, 
and  flanked  on  each  side  by  a  glass  port-hole. 
If  you  ask  for  an  explanation  of  the  difference 
between  the  two  varieties  of  cars,  the  driver 
will  most  likely  reply: 

"  The  difference  between  the  two  cyars,  is 
it  ?  That's  simple,  yer  honour.  Sure,  the  out- 
side cyar  has  the  wheels  inside,  and  the  inside 
has  them  outside,  as  ye  see !  " 

Since  Blarney,  the  castle,  and  the  lake  are 
practically  a  suburb  of  Cork,  they  should  be 
considered  therewith.  Blarney  Castle  —  which 
is  situated,  as  the  native  says,  "  a  long  mile 
from  the  railway  station "  —  is  of  interest 


26 


Romantic  Ireland 


more  because  it  is  an  exceedingly  good  speci- 
men of  mediaeval  castle  building  than  because 
of  the  notoriety  of  what  Father  Prout  was 
pleased  to  call  an  "  impudence-conferring 99 
stone. 

As  a  sentiment  or  superstition,  the  alleged 
incidents  or  circumstances  connected  with  the 
"  Blarney  Stone  "  are  harmless  enough ;  but 
far  more  importance  has  been  given  to  its 
rather  negative  charms  than  is  really  justified. 

Blarney  Castle  itself,  with  its  surrounding 
"  groves  of  Blarney  which  look  so  charming," 
and  its  real  and  tangible  fabric,  is  of  vastly 
appealing  interest;  but,  usually,  it  has  faded 
into  insignificance  in  the  eyes  of  those  who 
contemplate  the  setting  which  has  been  given 
to  the  all-powerful  block  of  stone.  The  glib 
tongue  of  the  native  has  done  much  to  per- 
petuate the  tradition  that  whoever  kisses  it  — 
and  accompanies  the  act  with  persuasive  elo- 
quence, so  perceptible  in  all  the  folk  around 
about  Cork  Harbour  —  is  for  ever  endowed 
with  blessings  innumerable,  if  not  actually 
with  superhuman  power. 

The  "real  stone,"  which  bore  the  inscrip- 
tion, "  Cormac  MacCarthy  Fortis  Mi  Fieri 


BOSTON  COLLKviJt  liduaai 
CHESTNUT  HILL,  MASS. 

Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney  2J 

Fecit,  a.  d.  1446,"  now  untraceable,  or  at  least 
illegible,  Was  at  the  north  angle.  It  was 
clasped  by  two  iron  bars  to  a  projecting  but- 
tress at  the  top  of  the  castle,  several  feet  below 
the  level  of  the  wall,  so  that,  to  perform  the 
kissing  feat  in  ancient  times,  it  was  necessary 
to  hold  on  by  the  bars,  and  project  the  body 
over  the  wall.  The  candidate  for  Blarney 
honours  to-day  will  find  another  "  real  stone," 
bearing  the  date  1703,  and  clasped  by  two  iron 
bars,  placed  within  the  tower,  where  it  is  quite 
accessible. 

The  "  Reliques  of  Father  Prout "  contain 
this  allusion  to  the  "Stone:" 

"  There  is  a  stone  there, 
That  whoever  kisses, 
Oh !  he  never  misses 

To  grow  eloquent. 
'Tis  he  may  clamber 
To  a  lady's  chamber, 
Or  become  a  member 

Of  Parliament. 

"  A  clever  spouter 
He'll  sure  turn  out,  or 
An  out  and  outer, 

To  be  let  alone ! 


28 


Romantic  Ireland 


Don't  hope  to  hinder  him 
Or  to  bewilder  him, 
Sure  he's  a  pilgrim 

From  the  Blarney  Stone." 

The  pleasure-grounds  surrounding  the  castle, 
which  were  formerly  adorned  with  statues, 
grottoes,  alcoves,  bridges,  and  every  descrip- 
tion of  rustic  ornament,  are  still  very  beautiful, 
although  it  is  true  that: 

"  The  muses  shed  a  tear, 
When  the  cruel  auctioneer, 
With  his  hammer  in  his  hand,  to  sweet  Blarney  came." 

And  so  their  beauty  has  gradually  dimin- 
ished, and  the  fine  old  trees  have  been  felled, 
and  one  looks  in  vain  for  the  statues  of  — 

11  The  heathen  gods, 
And  nymphs  so  fair, 
Bold  Neptune,  Plutarch, 
And  Nicodemus, 
All  standing  naked 
In  the  open  air." 

As  Father  Prout  further  says,  the  — 

"  .  .  .  gravel  walks  there 
For  speculation 
And  conversation  "  — 


Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney  29 

are  still  in  good  order,  and  to  wander  in  — 
"  The  Groves  of  Blarney- 
Down  by  the  purling 
Of  sweet  silent  streams," 

and  among  the  — 

"...  flowers  that  scent 
The  sweet  fragrant  air  "  — 

is  a  most  pleasant  occupation  for  a  summer's 
afternoon. 

Blarney  Castle  was  built  in  the  fifteenth 
century  by  Cormac  MacCarthy,  and  consists, 
to-day,  of  only  the  massive  donjon  tower,  per- 
haps 120  feet  in  height,  and  another  lower 
portion,  less  substantial,  though  hardy  enough 
to  warrant  the  conjecture  that,  before  the  in- 
troduction of  firearms,  it  must  have  been  im- 
pregnable. It  is  almost  as  marvellous  as  the 
power  attributed  to  the  Blarney  Stone  that  a 
few  lines  of  rather  cheap  doggerel,  containing 
in  themselves  no  merit  save  their  absurdity, 
should  succeed  in  gaining  a  world-wide  no- 
toriety for  a  place  which,  otherwise,  might 
not  have  been  greatly  celebrated  beyond  its 
own  neighbourhood. 


30  Romantic  Ireland 

It  is  altogether  incomprehensible  to  the 
writer  that  the  real  charm  and  romance  of 
this  castle,  standing  up  in  its  fifteenth-century 
sternness  amidst  one  of  the  greenest  and  most 
smiling  districts  in  all  green  Erin,  have  been 
so  obscured,  of  late,  by  the  popular  and  vulgar 
traditions  which  are  perpetuated  in  the  horse- 
play of  holding  one  another  head  downwards 
over  the  battlements  to  "  kiss  the  stone," 
though  this  is  no  longer  really  necessary,  since 
another  more  conveniently  placed  stone  has 
been  provided  for  the  purpose.  It  is  a  pro- 
cedure which  creates  much  excitement  among 
a  certain  class  of  "  trippers,"  and,  as  it  keeps 
a  certain  amount  of  coin  in  circulation  in  the 
neighbourhood,  it  may  be  accounted  as  a  per- 
fectly legitimate  enterprise  in  that  no  actual 
harm  is  done.  What  a  pity  it  is,  though,  that 
Ireland  has  no  commission  for  the  care  of 
historical  monuments,  as  has  France  ! 

Macroom,  i.  e.y  the  Plain  of  Croom  between 
Cork  and  Killarney,  was  once  the  home  and 
gathering-place  of  the  famous  song-bards  of 
the  ancients,  the  druids. 

Certainly  the  druids  left  a  considerable 
impress  upon  Ireland,  as  they  did  upon  Wales 


BLARNEY  CASTLE. 


Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney  33 

and  Bretagne;  though  it  may  be  questioned 
to-day,  in  the  light  of  the  latest  information 
concerning  the  druidical  race,  if  their  strains 
of  melody  actually  did  pale  the  cheek  of  beauty, 
or  even  "  rise  the  slumbering  passion  of  the 
warrior  to  slaughter/ 9 

Macroom,  to-day,  is  chiefly  famous  for  its 
castle.  It  was  built  by  the  Carews  in  the  time 
of  King  John,  shortly  after  the  Conquest,  and 
was  subsequently  in  the  possession  of  the  Mac- 
Carthys.  It  was  burned  in  the  rebellion  of 
1 64 1.  The  huge  square  keep,  now  covered 
with  ivy,  is  all  that  remains  of  the  original 
structure.  Admiral  Sir  William  Penn,  father 
of  the  founder  of  Pennsylvania,  was  born  here. 
Macroom,  the  centre  of  the  sporting  gentry 
of  Muskerry,  for  whom  this  barony  was  al- 
ways famous,  can  also  boast  of  a  band  of  poets 
racy  of  the  soil.  In  1774,  the  poems  of  John 
Connolly,  a  Macroom  man,  were  published 
in  Cork.  He  thus  sings  the  praises  of  his 
native  town  : 

"  Whoever  means  to  shake  off  gloom 
Let  him  repair  to  sweet  Macroom, 
For  here  his  cares  he  will  entomb 

And  think  no  more  of  sorrow. 


34 


Romantic  Ireland 


"  Let  Mallow  yield  to  gay  Macroom, 
For  here  we  know  not  care  nor  gloom, 
Here  nature  wears  perpetual  bloom, 

And  quite  dispels  our  sorrow." 

Near  Macroom  are  the  celebrated  Inchi- 
geela  Lakes  and  the  still  more  celebrated  island 
and  lake  of  Gougane  Barra,  the  retreat  of  St. 
Finbarr,  who  had  truly  an  eye  for  the  beauti- 
ful and  grand  when  he  chose  such  a  site  as  this 
for  his  meditations. 

On  the  verdant  islet  are  the  ruins  of  the 
little  church,  and  the  arched  praying-stations 
of  the  pilgrims  to  the  shrine.  A  holy  well  is 
also  here,  and  its  primitive  materials  and  rude 
masonry  indicate,  at  a  glance,  the  centuries 
that  have  passed  since  here  dwelt  the  "  Island 
Saint "  and  anchorite,  the  founder  of  Cork. 
Of  the  many  venerable  anchorites  who  after- 
ward occupied  the  dwelling,  and  imitated  the 
virtues  of  St.  Finbarr,  the  last  was  Father 
Denis  O'Mahony,  whose  tomb,  erected  by  him- 
self in  1700,  is  still  to  be  seen. 

Westward,  near  the  border  of  the  lake,  is 
the  "  Green  Valley  of  Desmond/'  enclosed  by 
towering  mountains,  from  the  side  of  one  of 
which,  "  Nad-na-nillar "  (the  Eagle's  Nest), 


GOUGANE  BARRA. 


Queenstown,  Cork,  and  Blarney  37 


flows  the  tiny  source  of  the  river  Lee,  which 
runs  through  Cork  to  the  sea.  Here  one  fully 
appreciates  the  appellation,  "  Lone  Gougane 
Barra."  Callanan,  the  native  bard,  has  sung 
of  it  as  follows: 

"  There  is  a  green  island  in  Lone  Gougane  Barra, 
Where  Allua  of  songs  rushes  forth  as  an  arrow ; 
In  deep-valleyed  Desmond  a  thousand  wild  fountains 
Come  down  to  that  lake  from  their  home  in  the  moun- 
tains. 

There  grows  the  wild  ash,  and  a  time-stricken  willow 
Looks  chidingly  down  on  the  mirth  of  the  billow, 
As,  like  some  gay  child,  that  sad  monitor  scorning, 
It  lightly  laughs  back  to  the  laugh  of  the  morning. 
And  its  zone  of  dark  hills  —  oh  !  to  see  them  all  bright- 
'ning 

When  the  tempest  flings  out  its  red  banner  of  lightning, 
And  the  waters  rush  down,  'mid  the  thunder's  deep 
rattle, 

Like  clans  from  their  hills  at  the  voice  of  the  battle. 
And  brightly  the  fire-crested  billows  are  gleaming, 
And  wildly  from  Mullagh  the  eagles  are  screaming; 
Oh,  where  is  the  dwelling  in  valley  or  highland 
So  meet  for  a  bard  as  this  lone  little  island ! 


Least  bard  of  the  hills,  were  it  mine  to  inherit 
The  fire  of  thy  harp,  and  the  wing  of  thy  spirit, 
With  the  wrongs  which  like  thee  to  our  country  has 
bound  me, 


38 


Romantic  Ireland 


Did  your  mantle  of  song  fling  its  radiance  around  me. 
Still,  still  in  those  wilds  may  young  liberty  rally, 
And  send  her  strong  shout  over  mountains  and  valley, 
The  star  of  the  west  may  yet  rise  in  its  glory 
And  the  land  that  was  darkest  be  brightest  in  story. 
I,  too,  shall  be  gone,  but  my  name  shall  be  spoken 
When  Erin  awakens,  and  her  fetters  are  broken ; 
Some  minstrel  will  come  in  the  summer  eve's  gleaming 
When  Freedom's  young  light  on  his  spirit  is  beaming, 
And  bend  o'er  my  grave  with  a  tear  of  emotion, 
Where  calm  Avon  Buee  seeks  the  kisses  of  ocean, 
Or  plant  a  wild  wreath  from  the  banks  of  that  river 
O'er  the  heart  and  the  harp  that  are  sleeping  for  ever." 


CHAPTER  IL 


GLENGARRIFF  AND  BANTRY  BAY 

TWO  of  the  most  famous  men  in  English 
literature  have  passed  unstinted  praise 
on  the  beauty  and  charm  of  the  southern  Irish 
coast. 

If  one  looks  at  a  map  of  the  southwest  of 
Ireland,  it  will  be  seen  that  its  whole  coast- 
line is  broken  into  serrations,  making  harbours, 
islands,  bays,  and  coves.  If  he  should  go  to 
the  coast  itself,  he  will  have  revealed  to  him 
a  wondrous  kaleidoscope,  — •  alternate  scenes 
of  sweet,  pathetic  gentleness,  and  stern  and 
rugged  grandeur,  all  full  of  engrossing  charm. 

Leaving  the  coast  and  going  inland,  as  there 
is  every  facility  for  doing,  one  finds  the  finest 
lakes  in  the  United  Kingdom;  and,  if  there 
are  no  Mont  Blancs  or  Matterhorns,  there  are, 
at  least,  beautiful  hills  and  mountains  with 
no  less  charm  and  none  of  their  difficulty  of 

39 


40  Romantic  Ireland 


access.  The  great  Atlantic  weaves  beat  against 
the  wild  rocks  of  the  south  Irish  coast;  but 
the  Gulf  Stream  gives  warmth  of  an  almost 
subtropical  mildness  to  the  fresh  sea  air,  and 
the  lowlands  are  enriched  by  the  soft  rains 
which  wash  the  hills  and  fall  into  the  great 
arms  of  the  sea,  called  Bantry  Bay,  Kenmare 
River,  and  Dingle  Bay. 

Farther  north  is  the  ample  estuary  of  the 
river  Shannon  and  Galway  Bay,  each  with 
much  the  same  characteristics.  To  take  a 
steamer  from  Cork  for  a  tour  of  the  south- 
west coast  will  form  a  unique  experience  in 
the  itinerary  of  most  folk.  Rounding  Cape 
Clear,  the  small  coasting-steamer  makes  the 
first  stop  at  the  little  village  of  Schull,  which 
stands  at  the  farther  extremity  of  an  almost 
landlocked  bay.  Here  the  land  on  three  sides 
gently  shelves  to  low  ranges  of  verdant  hills, 
while  the  harbour  is  speckled  with  its  fishing 
craft. 

Leaving  Schull,  a  half-hour  or  more  is 
passed  before  we  are  clear  of  the  many  rocky 
islands  of  its  harbour  and  come  to  a  view  of 
Brow  Head,  with  its  signal-station.  Mizen 
Head  and  Sheep's  Head  are  seen  in  their  turn ; 


Glengarriff  and  Bantry  Bay  43 

and  the  dawn  finds  the  ship  snugly  anchored 
at  Berehaven.  Here  at  Castletown-Berehaven 
we  are  at  the  home  station  of  the  Channel  fleet 
during  the  autumn  manoeuvres.  Before  us  is 
the  grand  panorama  of  Glengarriff  and  the 
mountains  which  shelter  Killarney's  lakes; 
while  seaward  is  only  the  vast  surge  of  the 
Atlantic. 

The  splendid  bay  of  Bantry,  which  takes 
its  name  from  the  town  which  lies  sheltered 
at  its  head,  is  unsurpassed  as  a  harbour  and 
roadstead  throughout  the  world.  Here  the 
sturdy  Atlantic  swell,  blue  as  sapphires,  rolls 
in  great  lashes  of  foam;  and  Berehaven,  just 
inside  the  Bear  or  Bere  Island,  is  the  base 
of  the  yearly  autumn  manoeuvres  of  the  Eng- 
lish Channel  fleet.  From  any  view-point  this 
rugged,  walled  bay  is  more  than  impressive, 
—  more  impressive,  even,  than  Glengarriff  it- 
self, which  lies  still  farther  inland,  its  circum- 
ference dotted  with  weed-embroidered  boulders. 
Bantry  Bay  is  twenty-one  miles  in  length; 
from  three  to  five  in  width;  and  has  a  depth, 
in  parts,  as  great  as  220  feet.  Berehaven  and 
Castletown,  which  are  nearest  the  open  sea, 
lie  just  inside  a  jagged  fang,  which,  once 


44 


Romantic  Ireland 


rounded,  opens  up  an  obscure  aperture  in  the 
coast-line,  and  discloses  a  harbour  in  which, 
truly,  all  the  fleets  of  the  world  might  lie  at 
anchor. 

Twice  the  French  fleet  invaded  Bantry  Bay. 
The  first  time,  in  1689,  in  aid  of  James  II.; 
and  the  second,  in  1796,  by  the  ill-favoured 
expedition  organized  by  General  Hoche,  when 
the  Sitrveillante  was  engulfed,  and  the  foe- 
laden  fleet  ultimately  took  their  departure  with- 
out disgorging  their  army.  This  latter  fleet, 
which  had  been  arrayed  for  the  invasion  of 
Ireland  by  Carnot  and  Clarke,  with  Theobald 
Wolfe  Tone  as  the  organizer  of  the  Irish 
Republicans,  consisted  of  twenty-six  sail,  with 
a  force  of  nearly  seven  thousand  men.  The 
O'Sullivans  were  the  ancient  chieftains  or 
princes  of  this  territory;  and,  to-day,  quite 
half  the  population  of  Castletown,  says  an 
imaginative  and  rollicking  Irish  writer,  are 
of  the  same  name,  the  other  half  being  Mur- 
phys. 

As  a  result  of  this  unfortunate  venture, 
Wolfe  Tone  quit  the  country  at  the  pleasure 
of  the  authorities,  and  went  to  America.  Ul- 
timately he  returned  to  France,  where  he  again 


Glengarriff  and  Bantry  Bay  45 


carried  on  his  conspiracy,  occupying  himself 
in  luring  Irishmen  from  among  the  prisoners 
at  Brest  to  enlist  in  the  French  service.  This 
procedure  was  accomplished  by  "  sending  the 
poor  fellows  large  quantities  of  wine  and 
cognac,  a  fiddle,  and  some  lilies  Francaises;  " 
and,  when  Pat's  heart  was  soft  with  love  and 
warm  with  passion,  Tone  induced  him  to  sign 
on  in  the  service  which  had  adopted  him. 

It  is  difficult  to  characterize  a  mian  of  Wolfe 
Tone's  kind.  Rash  and  criminal  though  he 
was,  it  is  hard  to  condemn  him  altogether. 
He  hated  England  cordially;  but  he  was  not 
alone  among  Irishmen  in  that.  Indeed,  he 
said :  "  I  like  the  French,  with  all  their  faults 
and  with  the  guillotine  at  their  head,  a  thou- 
sand times  better  than  I  like  the  English. " 

Whiddy  Island,  which  lies  just  off  the  town 
of  Bantry,  was  a  former  stronghold  of  the 
O'Sullivans  of  Bere;  and  an  imposing  castled 
ruin  tells  of  the  times  when  violence,  even  in 
such  a  spot  as  this,  had  to  be  met  by  repression. 
Bantry  lies  in  a  hollow  at  the  head  of  the  bay. 
The  whole  bay  affords  a  succession  of  pros- 
pects magnificent  and  grand.  Its  views  vary 
from  the  softness  of  a  landscape  nocturne  to 


46 


Romantic  Ireland 


the  rugged  splendour  of  a  realistic  impression. 
Weak  as  are  these  similes,  they  can  only  mark 
the  sense  of  contrast  which  the  scene  awakens. 
Bantry  is  in  its  way  an  active  little  place,  and, 
like  Castletown,  rejoices  in  a  series  of  sign- 
boards to  which  the  prefix  "  O  "  is  all  but 
universal.  Its  tiny  port  is  busy;  and  its  peo- 
ple are  apparently  imbued  with  an  industry 
not  always  to  be  noted  in  these  parts. 

Near  Castletown-Bere  is  Dunboy  Castle, 
two  miles  away  along  a  road  which  in  sum- 
mer is  hedgerowed  with  honeysuckle  and  clem- 
atis, ferns  and  lichen-covered  rocks.  The 
present  castle  of  Dunboy  is  modern,  and  is 
therefore  less  appealing  than  the  older  fabric, 
which  so  successfully  defended  itself  against 
Sir  George  Carew.  The  story  of  the  chiefs 
of  Dunboy  is  familiar  in  outline  to  most;  but 
the  story  of  its  famous  siege,  when  Mac- 
Geoghegan  fought  Dunboy  against  Carew  and 
his  interesting  army  of  four  thousand  men,  has 
often  been  overlooked  in  favour  of  more  the- 
atrically magnificent  performances. 

Why  this  should  be  so,  it  is  hard  to  realize. 
History  has  recorded  with  fidelity  and  mi- 
nutely many  of  its  incidents,  and,  in  "  The 


Glengarriff  and  Bantry  Bay  47 


Two  Chiefs  of  Dunboy,"  it  has  inspired  an 
historical  romance  of  the  first  rank. 

When  Donal  took  his  last  farewell  of  his 
once  proud  home,  it  had  become  a  smoking, 
blood-clotted  ruin. 

"  The  halls  where  mirth  and  minstrelsy 
Than  Beara's  wind  rose  louder, 
Were  flung  in  masses  lonelily, 

And  black  with  English  powder." 

The  tragic  story  of  the  siege  is  thus  con- 
densed: The  garrison  consisted  of  only  143 
chosen  fighting  men,  who  had  but  a  few  small 
cannons;  while  the  comparatively  large  army 
which  assailed  them  was  well  supplied  with 
artillery  and  all  the  means  of  attack.  At 
length,  on  the  17th  of  June,  when  the  castle 
had  been  nearly  shot  to  pieces,  the  garrison 
offered  to  surrender  if  allowed  to  depart  with 
their  arms;  but  their  messenger  was  immedi- 
ately hanged,  and  the  order  for  the  assault 
given. 

Although  the  proportion  of  the  assailants  in 
point  of  numbers  was  overwhelming,  the 
storming  party  were  resisted  with  the  most 
desperate  bravery.   From  turret  to  turret,  and 


48 


Romantic  Ireland 


in  every  part  of  the  crumbling  ruins,  the  strug- 
gle was  successively  maintained  throughout 
the  livelong  day.  Thirty  of  the  gallant  de- 
fenders attempted  to  escape  by  swimming; 
but  the  soldiers,  who  had  been  posted  in  boats, 
killed  them  in  the  water;  and,  at  length,  the 
surviving  portion  of  the  garrison  retreated  into 
a  cellar,  to  which  the  only  access  was  by  a 
narrow,  winding  flight  of  stone,  steps.  Their 
leader,  MacGeoghegan,  being  mortally 
wounded,  the  command  was  given  to  Thomas 
Taylor,  the  son  of  an  Englishman,  and  the 
intimate  friend  of  Captain  Tyrell,  to  whose 
niece  he  was  married. 

Nine  barrels  of  gunpowder  were  stowed 
away  in  the  cellar;  and  Taylor  declared  that 
he  would  blow  up  all  that  remained  of  the 
castle,  burying  himself  and  his  companions, 
with  their  enemies,  in  the  ruins,  unless  they 
received  a  promise  of  life.  This  was  refused 
by  the  savage  Carew,  who,  placing  a  guard 
upon  the  entrance  to  the  cellar,  as  it  was  then 
after  sunset,  returned  to  the  work  of  slaughter 
next  morning.  Cannon-balls  were  discharged 
among  the  Irish  in  their  last  dark  retreat ;  and 
Taylor  was  forced  by  his  companions  to  sur- 


Glengarriff  and  Bantry  Bay  49 


render  unconditionally.  When,  however,  some 
of  the  English  descended  into  the  cellar,  they 
found  the  wounded  MacGeoghegan,  with  a 
lighted  torch  in  his  hand,  staggering  to  throw 
it  into  the  gunpowder.  Captain  Power  there- 
upon seized  him  by  the  arms,  and  the  others 
despatched  him  with  their  swords.  Fifty- 
eight  of  those  who  had  surrendered  were 
hanged  that  day  in  the  English  camp,  and 
others  a  few  days  after;  so  that  not  one  of 
the  143  heroic  defenders  of  Dunboy  survived. 
On  the  22d  of  June  the  remains  of  the  castle 
were  blown  up  by  Carew  with  the  gunpowder 
of  the  besieged. 

It  was  Thackeray,  who,  if  possessed  of  a 
certain  smugness,  was  often  moved  by  patri- 
otic and  sometimes  by  charitable  motives,  said : 

"  What  sends  picturesque  tourists  (What,  if 
you  please,  Mr.  Thackeray,  are  picturesque 
tourists?)  to  the  Rhine  or  Saxon  Switzerland, 
when,  within  five  miles  of  the  pretty  inn  at 
Glengarriff,  there  is  a  country  of  the  magnifi- 
cence of  which  no  pen  can  give  an  idea?  I 
would  like  to  be  a  great  prince,  and  bring  a 
train  of  painters  over  to  make,  if  they  could, 
and  according  to  their  several  capabilities,  a 


Romantic  Ireland 


set  of  pictures  of  the  place.  Were  such  a  bay 
lying  upon  English  shores,  it  would  be  the 
world's  wonder." 

Glengarriff  is  all  that  Thackeray  pictured  it 
in  prose.  It  is  more  than  that,  —  more,  in- 
deed, than  is  within  the  power  of  words  to 
describe,  though  its  beauty  is  somewhat  of 
the  stage-scenery  and  landscape-painting  order. 

Travellers  from  all  the  corners  of  the  earth 
have  raved  over  its  charm;  but  they  all  fail 
utterly  to  describe  the  insinuating  peacefulness 
of  its  mirrored  sky  and  emerald-clad  hills. 
No  one  but  the  artist  can  at  all  successfully 
portray  its  moods :  at  times  brilliant  with  sun- 
shine and  verdure,  and  again,  sombre  and  mist- 
laden  with  the  rains  of  autumn;  but  never,  or 
seldom  ever,  even  in  the  most  abnormal  win- 
ter, bare  or  bleak.  Indeed,  this  region,  to- 
gether with  many  others  in  Ireland,  has  been, 
by  many  eminent  scientists,  proclaimed  one  of 
nature's  most  famous  sanitoria. 

Prince  Puckler  Muskau,  in  his  tour  of  Ire- 
land, wrote  thus  of  Glengarriff :  "  The  cli- 
mate is  most  favourable  for  vegetation,  moist 
and  so  warm  that  not  only  azaleas  and  rho- 
dodendra,  and  all  sorts  of  evergreens  stand 


Glengarriff  and  Bantry  Bay  53 


abroad  through  the  winter,  but,  in  favourable 
aspect,  even  camellias,  dates,  pomegranates, 
magnolias,  etc.,  attain  their  fullest  beauty." 
Lord  Macaulay  and  Sir  David  Wilkie  called 
it  the  fairest  spot  in  the  British  Isles. 

The  former's  stanzas,  as  given  below,  are 
perhaps  not  of  his  usual  heroic  order,  and  may, 
once  and  again,  appear  unduly  sentimental,  but 
they  are  emphatically  true  and  appreciative: 

"  Hail,  charming  scene  !  GlengarrifFs  bay, 
Yon  mountains,  streams,  and  dells, 
The  Atlantic  waters'  foaming  spray, 
Creation's  wonder  tells. 

"  Hail,  Bantry's  noble  harbour  deep, 
Where  Britain's  fleet  may  ride, 
And  giant  ships,  in  safety's  keep, 
May  in  or  outward  glide. 

"  Thy  glorious  waters,  green  and  gemmed, 
With  beauteous  islands  crowned, 
While  the  enchanting  scene  is  hemmed 
With  purple  hills  around. 

"  At  morning's  dawn  or  evening's  shade 
Thy  glory's  still  the  same : 
And  ever  will  be  so  arrayed, 
With  English  tourists'  fame." 


54 


Romantic  Ireland 


An  enthusiastic  American,  who  subscribed 
himself  as  from  New  Jersey,  has  left  the  fol- 
lowing lines  upon  the  register  of  the  hotel 
at  Glengarriff : 

ADIEU  TO  GLENGARRIFF 

"  Glengarriff !  on  thy  shaded  shore 
I've  wandered  when  the  sun  was  high, 
Have  seen  the  moonlit  showers  pour 
Through  thy  umbrageous  canopy : 


Glengarriff !  might  I  but  delay, 


I  would  not  say  good-bye  to  thee : 
Alas  !  far  distant  is  the  day 
When  I  thy  charms  again  may  see. 
Yet,  in  the  land  remote  of  mine, 
Remembrance  will  thy  grace  renew, 
So,  as  thou  canst  not  call  me  thine, 
Glengarriff  !  loveliest,  best,  adieu ! " 

This  valleyed  and  landlocked  harbour  of 
Glengarriff  terminates  Bantry  Bay,  which, 
says  Mr.  Kipling,  "  lies  just  to  the  eastward 
of  the  Fastnet,  that  well-worn  mile-post  of 
the  Atlantic  liner/' 

In  Kipling's  "  Fleet  in  Being,"  which  first 
appeared  in  the  Morning  Post  (London)  in 


HUNGRY  HILL. 


Glengarriff  and  Bantry  Bay  57 

1898,  and  of  which  even  this  author's  most 
ardent  devotees  appear  too  frequently  to  have 
no  knowledge,  are  to  be  found  some  wonder- 
ful bits  of  descriptions  of  Irish  coast  scenery. 
Therein  are  recounted  virile  experiences  and 
observations  on  board  the  flag-ship  of  the 
Channel  fleet  during  the  autumn  manoeuvres; 
and,  from  Lough  Swilly  in  the  north  to  Bantry 
Bay  in  the  south,  the  author  depicts,  with  a 
master  mariner's  fidelity,  the  characteristics  of 
the  coast-line,  —  its  harbours,  bays,  headlands, 
and  ports,  —  in  so  incomparable  a  fashion 
that  it  is  to  him  that  we  must  accord  the  rap- 
idly increasing  appreciation  of,  and  interest  in, 
the  charms  of  Ireland  as  a  tourist  resort. 

Coupled  with  the  charms  of  Glengarriffs 
bay  is  its  sister  attraction  —  no  less  winsome 
—  of  the  monarch  mountain  of  these  parts, 
Sliabhna-goil  {i.  e.,  "  the  Mountain  of  the 
Wild  People  "),  more  commonly  called  "  Sugar 
Loaf."  Why  it  is  so  named  is,  of  course, 
obvious  to  all  who  see  it;  but  it  is  a  rank  de- 
parture from  its  original  appellation. 

This  mountain's  taller  brother  Dhade  (now 
Hungry  Hill)  rears  itself  in  grim,  severity  a 


58 


Romantic  Ireland 


little  to  the  westward.  Both  are  conspicuously 
coast-line  elevations  of  the  first  rank. 

Time  will  allow  but  a  glance  at  the  many 
beauties  of  this  region;  but  the  leaves  of 
memory  will  press  the  fragments  of  romance, 
in  an  all-enduring  fashion,  to  all  who  come 
immediately  beneath  their  spell. 

One  legend,  repeated  here  from  a  source 
well  known,  must  suffice.  It  refers  to  the 
mountain  pass  of  Keim-an-eigh,  "  the  path 
of  the  deer,"  through  which,  according  to 
M'Carthy's  "  Bridal  of  the  Year,"  and  in  real- 
ity, too : 

"  Streams  go  bounding  in  their  gladness 
With  a  Bacchanalian  madness." 

M'Carthy  has  put  the  legend  into  elegant 
verse,  known  of  all  lovers  of  Irish  song  as 
"  Alice  and  Una." 

Briefly  the  tale  runs  thus :  A  young  hunts- 
man, Maurice  by  name,  had  all  day  pursued 
a  fawn,  which  at  evening  fled  for  refuge  — 

"  To  a  little  grassy  lawn  — 
It  is  safe,  for  gentle  Alice  to  her  saving  breast  hath 
drawn 

Her  almost  sister  fawn." 


Glengarriff  and  Bantry  Bay  59 


A  romantic  affection  then  sprang  up  be- 
tween the  two  humans,  the  hunter  and  the 
maid;  and  this  magnet  drew  the  youth  often 
hither,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Una,  a  fairy 
queen,  was  passionately  enamoured  of  the  gal- 
lant deer-chaser.  One  evening,  as  he  was 
wending  his  way  to  see  his  lady  fair,  the  moon 
grew  dark,  a  great  storm  arose,  and  the  love- 
lorn Maurice  lost  himself  in  the  wood.  All 
this  was  of  course  due  to  the  jealous  fairy  in 
true  legendary  fashion.  At  length  he  falls  in 
with  a  noble  jet-black  steed,  which  he  mounts. 
This  grim  shape  proves  to  be  a  certain  dreaded 
Phooka  (the  same  symbol  is  renowned 
throughout  Ireland,  and  has  been  traced  even 
to  the  legends  of  the  Northmen),  a  genii  of 
Una's,  who  immediately  rushes  off  with  the 
youth  through  glen  and  valley,  stream  and 
forest,  up  and  down  the  mountain  sides : 


"  Now  he  rises  o'er  Bearhaven,  where  he  hangeth  like  a 
raven  — 

Ah !  Maurice,  though  no  craven,  how  terrible  for  thee ! 
To  see  the  misty  shading  of  the  mighty  mountains 
fading, 

And  thy  winged  fire-steed  wading  through  the  clouds  as 
through  a  sea ! 


6o 


Romantic  Ireland 


Now  he  feels  the  earth  beneath  him  —  he  is  loosened  — 

he  is  free, 
And  asleep  in  Keim-an-eigh." 

In  his  trance-dream  he  hears  the  rumble  of 
crashing  thunder.  The  rock  opens  and  dis- 
plays within  a  scene  of  revelry  and  joy,  to 
which  a  page  bids  him  welcome,  and  ushers 
him  through  a  brilliant  assemblage  to  the  very 
throne  of  the  Queen-fairy  Una.  She  smiles 
graciously  upon  him;  urges  him  to  leave  the 
world  and  all  its  woes  to  become  one  of  her 
happy  subjects;  and  promises  him  that,  if 
he  will  but  take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  she 
herself  will  deign  to  be  his  bride.  Spellbound 
by  such  an  appeal,  his  lips  are  all  but  ready 
to  utter  the  irrevocable  vow. 

"  While  the  word  is  there  abiding,  lo !  the  crowd  is  now 
dividing, 

And,  with  sweet  and  gentle  gliding,  in  before  him  came 
a  fawn ; 

It  was  the  same  that  fled  him,  and  that  seemed  so  much 
to  dread  him, 

When  it  down  in  triumph  led  him  to  GlengarrhTs  grassy- 
lawn, 

When  from  rock  to  rock  descending,  to  sweet  Alice  he 
was  drawn, 

As  through  Keim-an-eigh  he  hunted  from  the  dawn." 


Glengarriff  and  Bantry  Bay  61 

"  The  magic  chain  is  broken  —  no  fairy  vow  is  spoken  — 
From  his  trance  he  hath  awoken,  and  once  again  is 
free ; 

And  gone  is  Una's  palace,  and  vain  the  wild  steed's 
malice, 

And  again  to  gentle  Alice  down  he  wends  through 
Keim-an-eigh. 

The  moon  is  calmly  shining  over  mountain,  stream,  and 
tree, 

And  the  yellow  sea-plants  glisten  through  the  sea. 


"  The  sun  his  gold  is  flinging,  the  happy  birds  are  sing- 
ing, 

And  bells  are  gaily  ringing  along  GlengarrifPs  sea ; 
And  crowds  in  many  a  galley  to  the  happy  marriage 
rally 

Of  the  maiden  of  the  valley  and  the  youth  of  Keim-an- 
eigh  ; 

Old  eyes  with  joy  are  weeping,  as  all  ask,  on  bended 
knee, 

A  blessing,  gentle  Alice,  upon  thee." 


CHAPTER  III. 


KILLARNEY  AND  ABOUT  THERE 

KILLARNEY  is  a  considerable  town, 
rather  prim  and  staid  and  too  offensively 
well  kept  to  be  wholly  appealing.  It  is  by  no 
means  handsome  of  itself,  nor  are  its  public 
buildings. 

The  chief  industry  is  catering,  in  one  form 
or  another,  to  the  largely  increasing  number 
of  tourists  who  are  constantly  flocking  thither. 

The  value  of  Killarney,  as  a  name  of  senti- 
mental and  romantic  interest,  lies  in  its  asso- 
ciation with  its  lakes  and  the  abounding  wealth 
of  natural  beauties  around  about  it. 

Tore  Mountain  and  waterfall,  Muckross, 
Cloghereen,  the  Gap  of  Dunloe  and  its  castle, 
the  upper,  middle,  and  lower  lakes,  Purple 
Mountain,  Black  Valley,  Eagle's  Nest,  and 
Innisfallen  are  all  names  with  which  to  call 
up  ever  living  memories  of  the  fairies  of  legend 
62 


64  Romantic  Ireland 


and  folk-lore,  and  of  the  more  real  personages 
of  history  and  romance. 

To  recount  them  all,  or  even  to  categorically 
enumerate  them,  would  be  impossible  here. 

There  is  but  one  way  to  encompass  them 
in  a  manner  at  all  satisfactory,  and  that  is 
to  make  Killarney  a  centre,  and  radiate  one's 
journeys  therefrom  for  as  extended  a  period 
as  circumstances  will  allow.  The  guide-books 
set  forth  the  attractions  and  the  ways  and 
means  in  the  usual  conventional  manner,  but 
it  is  useless  to  expect  any  real  help  from  them. 

The  true  gem  of  Killarney's  many  charms 
is  without  question  Lough  Leane  and  Innis- 
f alien  (Monk's  Robe  Island),  which  lies  em- 
bosomed in  the  lower  lake. 

Yeats,  the  Irish  poet,  spent  the  full  force 
of  his  lyric  genius  in  the  verses  which  he  wrote 
with  this  entrancing  isle  for  their  motive. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson  is  reported  to  have 
said  that,  of  all  modern  poets,  none  has  struck 
the  responsive  chord  of  imagination  as  did 
this  sweet  singer  with  the  following  lines: 

"And  I  shall  have  some  peace  there, 
For  peace  comes  dropping  slow, 
Dropping  from  the  veils  of  the  morning 


ST.  finian's  oratory,  innisfallen. 


Killarney  and  About  There  67 


To  where  the  cricket  sings ; 

There  midnight's  all  a  glimmer 

And  noon  a  purple  glow, 

And  evening  full  of  the  linnet's  wings. 

"  I  will  arise  and  go  now, 
For  always,  night  or  day, 
I  hear  lake  water  lapping, 
With  low  sounds  by  the  shore ; 
While  I  stand  on  the  roadway, 
Or  on  the  pavements  gray, 
I  hear  it  in  the  deep  heart's  core." 

Moore's  description  is  perhaps  as  appropri- 
ate, but  it  is  no  more  beautiful : 

11  Sweet  Innisfallen,  fare  thee  well, 
May  calm  and  sunshine  long  be  thine ! 
How  fair  thou  art  let  others  tell,  — 
To  feel  how  fair  shall  long  be  mine." 

From  Glengarriff  to  Killarney  via  Kenmare 
is  a  long-drawn  sweetness  of  prospect,  which 
it  is  perhaps  impossible  to  duplicate  for  its 
sentimental  charm,  —  an  ability  to  appreciate 
which  belongs  to  us  all,  even  if  only  to  a  lim- 
ited extent. 

The  road  from  County  Cork  to  County 
Kerry  —  and  one  journeys  only  by  road  from 
Bantry  Bay  to  Dingle  Bay,  via  Kenmare  and 


68 


Romantic  Ireland 


Killarney,  the  age  of  steam  not  yet  having 
arrived  at  these  parts  —  winds  fascinatingly 
up  and  down  hill  and  dale,  diving  suddenly 
through  a  tunnelled  rock,  when  a  transforma- 
tion takes  place,  and  one  leaves  the  rugged- 
ness  and  freshness  of  Bantry  Bay  for  the  more 
or  less  humid  fairy-land  of  the  region  about 
Killarney.  The  view  ahead  is  peculiarly  grand 
in  its  contrast  with  that  left  behind.  Down 
the  beetling  precipices  along  which  the  road  is 
clinging  to  its  sterile  sides,  one  traces  the 
valley  beneath  until  it  blends  with  the  silvery 
surface  of  Kenmare  River.  From  Kenmare, 
the  way  to  Killarney  is  by  the  "  Windy  Gap." 
Beneath  lies  an  extensive  valley,  and  beyond 
is  the  Black  Valley.  Farther  on  are  the  sky- 
lines of  the  mountains  which  encompass  the 
wild  and  dark  Gap  of  Dunloe;  and,  farther 
still,  will  be  observed  the  more  jagged  outlines 
of  "  MacGillicuddy's  Reeks."  Soon  one  be- 
holds the  first  view  of  the  beauties  of  far-famed 
Killarney,  the  immense  valley  in  which  repose 
the  three  lakes,  —  the  upper,  lower,  and  mid- 
dle, with  their  numerous  islets.  En  route 
from  Kenmare  to  Killarney,  one  first  comes 
to  Muckross  Abbey  and  Demesne,  of  which 


Killarney  and  About  There  71 

Sir  Walter  Scott  has  said :  "  Art  could  make 
another  Versailles ;  it  could  not  make  another 
Muckross."  This  is  characteristic  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter and  his  fine  sentiment;  but,  as  Muckross 
is  suggestive  of  nothing  ever  heard  or  thought 
of  at  Versailles,  the  comparison  is  truly  odious. 

Muckross  is  charming.  It  is  thoroughly 
Irish ;  and  reeks  of  the  native  soil  and  its  peo- 
ple, wherein  is  its  value  to  the  traveller. 

The  scenery  around  about  Muckross  is  very 
beautiful,  but  its  ruined  abbey  is  the  great 
architectural  relic  of  all  Ireland.  The  ruins 
consist  of  the  abbey  and  church,  which  was 
founded  for  the  Order  of  Franciscans  by  Mc- 
Carthy Mor,  Prince  of  Desmond,  in  1340,  on 
the  site  of  an  old  church  which,  in  1192,  had 
been  destroyed  by  fire.  The  remains  of  sev- 
eral of  this  prince's  descendants  are  said  to 
rest  here.  In  the  choir  is  the  vault  of  the 
ancient  Irish  sept.,  the  McCarthys,  the  memory 
of  whom  is  preserved  by  a  rude  sculptured 
monument.  Here  also  rest  the  remains  of  the 
Irish  chieftains  or  princes  of  the  houses  of 
O'Sullivan  Mor  and  the  O'Donoghue.  The 
great  beauty  of  these  ruins  lies  in  its  gloomy 
cloisters,  which  are  rendered  still  more  gloomy 


72  Romantic  Ireland 


by  the  close  proximity  of  a  magnificent  yew- 
tree  of  immense  size  and  bulk. 

Killarney's  lakes  are  irregular  sheets  of 
water  lying  in  a  basin  at  the  foot  of  a  very 
high  range  of  mountains,  set  with  islands  and 
begirt  with  rocky  and  wooded  heights.  They 
are  three  in  number;  what  is  known  as  the 
upper,  the  middle  or  Muckross  Lake,  and  the 
lower  lake,  —  the  northernmost,  —  more  prop- 
erly called  Lough  Leane.  The  middle  lake 
is  also  called  the  Tore.  A  winding  stream, 
known  as  the  Long  Range,  unites  the  dif- 
ferent bodies  of  water.  The  chief  of  the 
natural  beauties  of  the  Long  Range  is  the 
Eagle's  Nest,  which  rises  sheer  from  the 
water's  edge  1,700  feet.  The  upper  lake  is 
the  most  beautiful  of  all,  though  the  smallest 
of  the  triad.  It  is  studded  with  tiny  islands 
and  girt  with  mountain  peaks,  bare  and  stern 
above,  but  clothed  with  rich  foliage  at  their 
base.  The  middle  lake  is  also  a  beautiful, 
though  more  extensive,  sheet,  and  contains  but 
four  islands,  as  compared  with  thirty  in  the 
lower  lake  and  six  in  the  upper. 

The  Colleen  Bawn  Caves  —  reminiscent  of 
Gerald  Griffin's  story,  "  The  Colleen  Bawn," 


Cloisters  of  Muckross  -Abbey 


Killarney  and  About  There  75 

and  Boucicault's  famous  play  of 'the  same  name 
—  are  also  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood 
of  the  middle  lake.  Tore  Cascade  and  Tore 
Mountain  lies  just  to  the  southward,  and  is 
justly  famed  as  one  of  the  brilliant  beauties 
of  the  region,  as  it  fails  in  numerous  sections 
over  the  broken  rock  to  fall  finally  in  a  precip- 
itous torrent  of  foam  to  its  ravine-bed  below. 

Ross  Castle,  like  Muckross  Abbey,  is  one 
of  Killarney's  chief  picturesque  ruins.  It  is 
on  an  island  in  the  lower  lake,  and  was  built 
ages  agone  by  the  O'Donoghues.  It  was  the 
last  castle  in  Munster  to  surrender  in  the  wars 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  giving  in  only 
when  General  Ludlow  and  his  "  ships-of-war," 
as  his  narrative  called  them,  surrounded  it. 
MacGillicuddy's  Reeks  lie  farthest  to  the 
westward  in  the  Killarney  region.  The  name 
of  this  stern  and  jagged  range  sounds  some- 
what humourous,  and  in  no  way  suggests  the 
majesty  and  splendour  of  these  hills;  for  they 
resemble  the  great  mountains  of  other  parts 
only  by  reason  of  their  contrast  with  the  low- 
lying  land  around  their  bases.  One  portion, 
indeed,  rises  a  matter  of  3,400  feet,  and  forms 
the  most  elevated  peak  in  Ireland,  grand  and 


76 


Romantic  Ireland 


majestic,  but,  for  all  that,  not  a  great  moun- 
tain, as  is  so  often  claimed  by  the  proud  native. 
The  celebrated  Gap  of  Dunloe  is  far  more 
deserving  for  its  natural  scenic  splendour,  and, 
in  its  way,  rivals  anything  in  Ireland. 

The  popular  method  of  imbibing  the  charm 
of  Dunloe  is  a  combination  of  picnic,  al  fresco 
luncheons,  and  donkey-riding.  This  answers 
well  enough  for  the  "  tripper,"  but  is  as  un- 
satisfying to  the  real  lover  of  nature  as  an 
imitation  Swiss  chalet  set  out  in  a  London 
park,  or  a  Japanese  tea-garden  built  out  of 
bamboo  poles  from  Africa. 

The  Gap  of  Dunloe  is  a  grand  defile,  per- 
haps five  miles  in  length,  which  can  only  be 
explored  and  truly  enjoyed  by  a  pilgrimage 
along  its  solitary  and  rugged  road  on  foot. 
Its  scenic  aspect  is  gloomy  and  grand,  with 
mirrored  lakes,  lofty  mountains,  and  a  thick 
undergrowth  of  heather  and  ivy.  It  is,  how- 
ever, in  no  manner  theatrical.  Through  this 
wild  glen  ripples  the  river  Lee,  linking  its  five 
tiny  lakes  as  with  a  silver  thread. 

At  the  upper  end  of  the  gap  one  emerges 
into  "The  Black  Valley,"  somewhat  apoc- 


THE  EAGLE'S  NEST. 


Killarney  and  About  There  79 

ryphally  stated  to  be  "a  gloomy,  depressing 
ravine." 

The  sun,  it  appears,  does  not  shine  down  its 
length  for  long  in  the  day,  as  it  is  flanked  on 
either  side  by  precipitous  hills.  The  average 
imagination  will  not,  however,  conjure  up  any 
very  dark  suspicions  with  regard  to  its  past, 
judging  from  the  aspect  of  the  valley  between 
the  hours  of  nine  in  the  morning  and  two  in 
the  afternoon.  Both  before  and  after  these 
hours  there  is  no  sunlight ;  and,  because  of  the 
dense,  long-reaching  shadows  which  are  pro- 
jected across  it,  it  was  so  named. 

There  is  a  good  week's  rambling  here  to 
spots  already  famed  in  history  for  their  beauty ; 
but  one  must  search  them  out  for  himself 
as  a  personal  experience. 

England's  poet  laureate  has  written  in  praise 
of  Killarney  in  a  fashion  which  should  please 
his  severest  critics,  those  who  have  mourned 
the  lack  of  a  single  thought  in  his  verse.  This 
is  certainly  not  true  with  regard  to  his  prose, 
which,  in  the  following  lines,  so  justly  and 
appropriately  describes  the  charm  of  South- 
west Ireland : 

"Vegetation,  at  once  robust  and  graceful, 


8o  Romantic  Ireland 


is  but  the  fringe  and  decoration  of  that  en- 
chanting district.  The  tender  grace  of  wood 
and  water  is  set  in  a  framework  of  hills,  —  now 
stern,  now  ineffably  gentle;  now  dimpling 
with  smiles,  now  frowning  and  rugged  with 
impending  storm ;  now  muffled  and  mysterious 
with  mist,  only  to  gaze  out  on  you  again  with 
clear  and  candid  sunshine.  Here  the  trout 
leaps,  there  the  eagle  soars ;  and  there,  beyond, 
the  wild  deer  dash  through  the  arbutus  coverts, 
through  which  they  have  come  to  the  margin 
of  the  lake  to  drink,  and,  scared  by  your  foot- 
step or  your  oar,  are  away  back  to  the  crosiered 
bracken  or  heather-covered  moorland.  But 
the  first,  the  final,  the  deepest  and  most  en- 
during impression  of  Killarney  is  that  of 
beauty  unspeakably  tender,  which  puts  on  at 
times  a  garb  of  grandeur  and  a  look  of  awe, 
only  in  order  to  heighten  by  passing  contrast 
the  sense  of  soft,  insinuating  loveliness.  How 
the  missel-thrushes  sing,  as  well  they  may! 
How  the  streams  and  runnels  gurgle  and  leap 
and  laugh!  For  the  sound  of  journeying 
water  is  never  out  of  your  ears;  the  feeling 
of  the  moist,  the  fresh,  the  vernal  is  never  out 
of  your  heart.  .  .  .  There  is  nothing  in  Eng- 


ROSS  CASTLE 


Killarney  and  About  There  83 

land  or  Scotland  as  beautiful  as  Killarney; 
.  .  .  and,  if  mountain,  wood,  and  water,  har- 
moniously blent,  constitute  the  most  perfect 
and  adequate  loveliness  that  nature  presents, 
it  surely  must  be  owned  that  it  has,  all  the 
world  over,  no  superior." 


CHAPTER  IV. 


AROUND  THE  COAST  TO  LIMERICK 

TT  is  at  Fastnet  that  the  great  incoming 
A  Atlantic  liners,  bound  for  Queenstown,  or 
through  St.  George's  Channel  to  Liverpool, 
first  make  land  and  run  up  their  four-deep 
strings  of  signals ;  where,  as  Mr.  Kipling  says : 

"  Every  day  brings  a  ship, 
Every  ship  brings  a  word ; 
Well  for  him  who  has  no  fear, 
Looking  seaward,  well  assured 
That  the  word  the  vessel  brings 
Is  tht  word  that  he  should  hear." 

Beyond  Bantry  Bay,  Black  Bull  Head  passes 
on  the  starboard,  and,  soon  after,  Dursly  Head 
and  Dursly  Island.  The  island  is  said  to  con- 
tain a  population  of  over  five  hundred,  with 
no  priest,  no  public  house,  and  no  constabulary. 
A  veritable  Arcadia! 


84 


Around  the  Coast  to  Limerick  87 

Bolus  Head,  Skelligs  Rocks,  and  Bray  Head 
passed,  one  comes  to  Valentia  Island  and  the 
entrance  to  Dingle  Bay.  One  of  the  most 
fondly  recalled  of  all  Irish  legends  is  that  of 
the  landing  of  the  Milesians,  as  they  came  up 
through  the  Biscayan  Bay  upon  what  they 
then  knew  as  "  Innis  Ealga  "  —  the  Noble  Isle. 
Then  it  was  ruled  by  three  brothers,  princes 
of  Tuatha  de  Danaan,  after  whose  wives  (who 
were  also  three  sisters)  the  island  was  alter- 
nately called,  Eire,  Banva,  and  Fiola.  By 
these  names  Ireland  is  still  frequently  known 
to  the  poets.  Whatever  difficulties  or  obsta- 
cles beset  the  Milesians  in  landing,  they  at 
once  attributed  to  the  "  necromancy  "  of  the 
Tuatha  de  Danaans.  When  the  Milesians 
could  not  discover  land  where  they  thought 
to  sight  it,  they  simply  agreed  that  the  Tuatha 
de  Danaans  had,  by  their  black  arts,  rendered 
it  invisible.  At  length  they  descried  the  island, 
its  tall  blue  hills  touched  by  the  last  beams 
of  the  setting  sun ;  and  from  the  galleys  there 
arose  a  shout  of  joy.  Innisfail,  the  Isle  of 
Destiny,  was  found! 

The  legend  has  furnished  Moore  the  excuse 


88 


Romantic  Ireland 


for  launching  into  melody  again.  He  relates 
it  as  follows  : 

"  They  came  from  a  land  beyond  the  sea, 
And  now  o'er  the  western  main 
Set  sail,  in  their  good  ships,  gallantly, 
From  the  sunny  land  of  Spain. 
*  Oh,  where  is  the  isle  we've  seen  in  dreams, 
Our  destin'd  home  or  grave  ?  ' 
Thus  sung  they,  as  by  the  morning's  beams, 
They  swept  the  Atlantic  wave. 

"  And  lo,  where  afar  o'er  ocean  shines 
A  sparkle  of  radiant  green, 
As  though  in  that  deep  lay  emerald  mines, 
Whose  light  through  the  wave  was  seen, 
<'Tis  Innisfail  —  'tis  Innisfail!' 
Rings  o'er  the  echoing  sea, 
While  bending  to  heav'n  the  warriors  hail 
That  home  of  the  brave  and  free." 

Valentia  —  the  most  westerly  railway-sta- 
tion in  Europe,  says  Bradshaw  —  is  the  true 
spot  where  West  meets  East;  where  the  New 
World  first  receives  its  introduction  to  the  Old. 

More  than  half  a  century  ago,  the  shores 
of  this  spacious  sheet  of  landlocked  water 
were  selected  by  the  great  Duke  of  Wellington 
and  others  as  the  terminus  of  a  railway  which 
was  to  be  the  first  link  in  the  chain  which  was 


Around  the  Coast  to  Limerick  91 

to  bind  the  Old  World  and  the  New,  and  to  join 
the  ocean  liners  that  were  run  from  America 
to  Valentia,  as  they  now  do  to  Queenstown. 
The  project  fell  through,  but  the  island  was 
afterward  selected  as  the  old-world  end  of 
the  Atlantic  cable  of  1865,  and  also  that  laid 
by  the  leviathan  steamship,  the  Great  Eastern, 
in  1866.  The  principal  village  on  the  island  is 
called  Knightstown.  If  favoured  with  a  fresh 
westerly  breeze,  one  beholds  from  the  hillside 
a  scene  of  grandeur  unsurpassed.  The  ocean 
engages  in  conflict  with  the  rugged  headlands 
rising  hundreds  of  feet  out  of  the  sea,  and 
hurls  its  foaming  breakers  with  ceaseless 
rhythm  against  the  base  of  the  rocks,  only  to 
be  rolled  back  in  spray  and  foam.  All  outside 
is  a  scene  of  wild  magnificence,  while,  such 
is  the  perfect  shelter,  the  harbour  itself,  under 
all  stress  of  weather,  is  as  placid  as  a  summer 
lake.  Lord  John  Manners,  in  his  notes  of  a 
tour  through  Ireland,  describes  the  Atlantic 
here  as  follows : 

"  The  great  waves  came  in  with  a  roar  like 
a  peal  of  artillery,  and  leapt  up  against  and 
over  the  rocks  just  below  us,  sending  forth  a 
rainbow  in  one  direction,  and  an  immense 


92 


Romantic  Ireland 


jet  of  foam  in  another.  I  do  not  believe  I 
exaggerate  in  saying  that  some  of  the  jets 
of  foam  sprung  a  hundred  feet  into  the  air, 
and  then  the  tints!  Sometimes  a  clear  green 
wave  would  roll  its  huge  volume  on  the  rocks 
before  it  broke;  at  others,  dash  greenly  up  to 
it  and  dissolve  in  wreaths  of  purest  white 
spray,  causing,  as  it  broke,  a  delicate  iris  to 
glow  on  the  opposite  rocks;  while  toward  the 
west  a  veil  of  foam  overhung  the  coast,  lighted 
up  by  the  golden  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  No 
wbrds  can  describe  the  fascination  of  the 
scene." 

To  observe  the  contrast  between  nature  and 
the  works  of  man,  one  has  only  to  visit  the 
isolated  premises  of  the  Anglo-American  Tele- 
graph Company.  The  manner  in  which  elec- 
tricity outstrips  the  sun  in  his  daily  round  is 
here  strikingly  exemplified.  Happening  to  be 
in  the  instrument-room  at  about  eleven  o'clock 
in  the  forenoon,  one  sees  the  operators  at  work, 
receiving  from,  say,  Berlin,  the  reports  of  the 
day's  markets,  and  transmitting  the  informa- 
tion to  New  York,  to  be  served  up  fresh  on 
Uncle  Sam's  breakfast-table,  which,  even  at 
that  early  hour  is  already  old  news  in  the  East- 


Around  the  Coast  to  Limerick  95 

era  world.  Lying  just  inside  Valentia  Island 
is  Cahirciveen,  the  birthplace  of  Daniel  O'Con- 
nell,  and  from  this  point  to  Dingle,  across  the 
bay,  is  to  be  seen  —  though  from  the  seaward 
side  only  —  the  finest  rock  scenery  on  the 
southwest  coast.  Here  Nature  seems  to  have 
done  her  best  to  produce  the  picturesque  with 
ocean  and  rock,  twisted  and  split,  pierced  and 
tunnelled ;  every  rock  seems  to  have  been  torn 
in  some  gigantic  struggle  against  total  de- 
struction, and  left  to  still  wage  war  against 
storm  and  tempest.  The  harbour  of  Dingle, 
landlocked  and  peaceful,  is  in  quiet  contrast 
to  all  this  turmoil,  though  Dingle's  weekly 
cattle  fair  will  give  the  stranger  the  impression 
that  he  is  witnessing  something  very  akin  to 
the  fabled  Donnybrook  Fair,  so  far  as  riotous 
good  humour  is  concerned. 

From  Slea  Head  a  magnificent  view  of 
Dingle  Bay  is  obtained,  —  its  indented  shores 
flanked  by  the  Dingle  mountains  stretching 
away  for  thirty  miles  of  wonderful  panorama 
of  islands  and  rocks  out  to  and  around  the 
Blasquetts.  The  Blasquetts  are  a  group  of 
eight  rocky  islands,  two  of  them  three  miles 
from  the  coast.    In  the  sound  between  these 


g6  Romantic  Ireland 


two  and  the  mainland  one  of  the  ships  of  the 
Spanish  Armada  sank  with  all  on  board. 

Perhaps  the  wildest  scene  on  the  southern 
coast  is  presented  by  the  Skelligs  Rocks,  off 
Dingle  Bay,  rising  as  pinnacles  of  slate,  wind- 
swept and  bare.  The  cliffs  seem  painted  in 
bands  of  cream  colour,  produced  by  countless 
crowds  of  gannets  —  most  powerful  of  gulls 
—  sitting  on  their  nests  on  the  ledges  of  cliff. 
At  the  sound  of  an  approaching  steamer,  the 
air  is  filled  with  a  swarm  of  puffins,  or  sea- 
parrots,  which  fly  heavily  around  the  crags; 
while,  from  the  caves  on  the  lower  cliffs,  like 
crowds  of  the  smaller  gulls  fill  the  air  with 
their  shrill,  screaming  cry. 

Limerick  is  a  city  which,  by  very  reason 
of  her  great  past  and  her  matter-of-fact  and 
decidedly  ordinary  present,  presents  great  and 
disappointing  contrasts.  One  may  read  the 
statistics  in  the  guide-books  and  learn  that 
350,000  pigs  are  killed  every  year  in  the  town, 
and  of  a  great  many  other  mundane  things 
which  happen  here  and  have  no  interest  what- 
soever for  him. 

There  is  no  doubt  about  the  pigs,  sausages, 
and  various  pork  products,  for  fat  swine, 


i 

8 

C 

i 

W 
K 
H 


Around  the  Coast  to  Limerick  99 

"  razorbacks,"  big  pigs,  and  little  pigs  swarm 
everywhere. 

There  is  no  escaping  the  Limerick  pig.  In 
single  file,  in  battalions,  as  solitary  scout,  alive 
or  dead,  baconed  and  sausaged,  he  dominates 
the  town.  Limerick  was  in  existence  as  long 
ago  as  the  days  of  Ptolemy;  was  scrambled 
for  by  the  Danes  and  the  Irish  kings  in  Al- 
fred's time  ;  took  the  fancy  of  that  good  judge 
of  "  eligible  sites,"  King  John,  and  was  dec- 
orated with  one  of  his  innumerable  castles, 
a  fine  old  relic  which  still  remains.  The  town 
was  in  the  very  thick  of  the  row  raised  by 
Cromwell ;  and,  in  the  wars  of  "  the  silent " 
William  of  Orange,  it  manufactured  history 
as  fast  as  its  factories  turn  out  sausages  now. 
The  name  of  Sarsfield,  the  Jacobite  general, 
is  for  ever  identified  with  Limerick.  The  city 
was  taken  and  retaken  more  often  than  we 
should  care  to  state ;  it  was  —  and  is  —  forti- 
fied up  to  the  very  limit;  and,  whenever  any- 
thing exciting  of  a  political  nature  went  on, 
in  times  past,  Limerick  was  ever  to  the  fore 
front,  ready  to  emphasize  her  opinions  with 
the  high-shouldered  fat  little  cannon  that  have 
somehow  got  left  out  on  the  ramparts,  quite 


IOO 


Romantic  Ireland 


forgotten  except  by  "  tourist  touts,"  though, 
truth  to  tell,  not  many  tourists  ever  come  to 
Limerick. 

To-day  Limerick  —  in  spite  of  its  activities 
with  respect  to  sausages  —  is  no  more  a  maker 
of  history,  but  sits  dozing  complacently  on 
the  estuary  of  "  the  finest  river  in  the  king- 
doms," and  cares  not  apparently  for  the  com- 
ings and  goings  of  the  outside  world. 

As  some  poetic  soul  —  possessed  by  an  Irish- 
man of  course  —  has  said :  "  No  one  cares  for 
Limerick  now.  Of  all  the  fierce  possessors 
who  fought  for  her  when  she  was  young,  the 
local  government  officially  alone  remains,  like 
the  gray  elderly  husband  of  some  housewifely 
woman  who  was  a  beauty  and  a  '  toast,'  and 
made  men's  sw'ords  leap  from  their  scabbards 
for  love  of  her  —  once." 

At  the  mouth  of  the  Shannon,  near  where 
its  tidal  waters  meet  the  sea,  Limerick  has 
its  "  fashionable  watering-place  "  of  the  con- 
ventional pattern.  The  chief  "  amusement  " 
of  this  delectable  place  appears  to  be  the  gath- 
ering of  "  Irish  moss,"  as  it  is  commonly 
known.  Here  they  call  it  "  Carrageen  moss," 
but  it  is  the  same  thing,  and  ultimately  turns 


Around  the  Coast  to  Limerick  103 

up  as  a  dainty  and  nourishing  jelly.  The 
peasantry  gather  it  for  profit,  the  visitors  for 
pastime.  It  is  found  in  many  shallow  rock 
pools  at  low  tide,  and  grows  in  short,  bushy 
tufts,  coralline  in  shape.  The  "  moss  "  must 
be  bleached  in  the  sun,  and  then  boiled  down 
into  jelly.  "  Dulse,"  another  variety  of  edible 
seaweed,  which  requires  no  preparation,  is 
also  found  here;  and  the  central  ribs  of  young 
oarweed  are  peeled  and  eaten  like  celery, 
which  they  very  much  resemble  in  looks,  but 
—  most  emphatically  —  not  in  taste. 

Dear  also,  to  Americans,  will  be  the  mem- 
ory of  County  Limerick  as  the  birthplace  of 
Fitz- James  O'Brien.  The  son  of  an  attorney, 
he  was  born  in  1828,  receiving  his  education 
at  Dublin  University.  In  his  youth  he  saw 
service  as  a  British  soldier,  but  early  drifted 
toward  journalism  and  America. 

Among  his  earliest  compositions  were  two 
remarkable  poems,  "  Loch  Ine "  and  "  Irish 
Castles,"  which  present  in  a  picturesque  vo- 
cabulary many  of  the  salient  charms  and  beau- 
ties of  his  native  isle. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  SHANNON  AND  ITS  LAKES 

1VTO  river  in  Great  Britain,  neither  the 
^  Thames,  nor  the  Clyde,  nor  even  the 
Severn,  equals  the  river  Shannon  and  its  lakes, 
either  in  length  or  in  importance  as  an  inland 
waterway.  The  native  on  its  banks  tells  you 
that  it  rivals  the  Mississippi;  but  in  what 
respect,  Americans,  at  least,  will  wonder.  Ex- 
cept that  it  broadens  to  perhaps  a  dozen  miles 
in  the  widest  of  its  lakes,  there  is,  of  course, 
no  comparison  whatever.  The  traffic  on  the 
river  is  of  no  great  magnitude  compared  with 
that  on  the  Thames  and  the  Clyde  ;  but,  were 
there  a  demand  for  such,  its  capacity  would 
be  far  greater  than  either. 

Moreover,  for  beauty,  either  of  the  dainty 
and  popularly  picturesque  sort,  or  of  the  su- 
premely grand,  it  has  preeminence,  and  one 
can  journey  its  whole  length,  from  Killaloe, 
104 


THE  SHANNON  AND  ITS  LAKES 


106  Romantic  Ireland 

practically  a  suburb  of  Limerick,  to  Carrick- 
on-Shannon,  something  over  a  hundred  miles, 
in  steamboats  of  really  comfortable,  if  not 
exactly  luxurious,  appointments. 

It  is  the  tourist  traffic  mostly  that  is  catered 
for;  and  the  traveller,  in  the  season,  is  likely 
to  find  the  company  mixed,  though  by  no 
means  is  it  of  the  "  tripper  "  class. 

The  itinerary  comprehends  much  that  is 
beautiful  and  much  that  is  historic. 

From  Limerick,  one  usually  makes  his  way 
by  train,  although  he  may  go  by  car  or  coach, 
—  such  a  trip  is  well  worth  while,  —  and 
embarks  upon  the  tiny  steamer  at  Killaloe. 

Here,  at  the  lower  end  of  Lough  Derg,  near 
Killaloe,  stood  in  the  ninth  century  Brian 
Boru's  palace  of  Kincora.  The  mound  on 
which  it  was  built  is  all  that  remains  of  a 
place  that  displayed,  twelve  hundred  years 
ago,  the  greatest  glory  of  the  proud  Irish 
kings. 

Many  were  the  events  of  historical  moment 
which  took  place  here,  though,  as  a  palace  of 
great  splendour  and  magnitude,  it  may  have 
been  exceeded  by  Tara  and  Emania. 

The  memory  of  Brian   Boru's  life  here 


The  Shannon  and  Its  Lakes  109 

places  him  in  the  annals  of  the  world's  great 
rulers  as  "  every  inch  a  king/' 

Neither  on  the  Irish  throne,  nor  on  that 
of  any  other  kingdom,  did  there  ever  sit  a 
sovereign  more  splendidly  qualified  to  rule; 
and  Ireland  had  not  for  some  centuries  known 
such  a  glorious  and  prosperous,  peaceful,  and 
happy  time  as  the  five  years  preceding  Brian's 
death.  He  caused  his  authority  to  be  not 
only  unquestioned,  but  obeyed  and  respected 
in  every  corner  of  the  land.  So  justly  were 
the  laws  administered  in  his  name,  and  so 
loyally  obeyed  throughout  the  kingdom,  that 
the  bards  relate  a  rather  fanciful  story  of  a 
young  and  exquisitely  beautiful  lady,  who 
made,  without  the  slightest  apprehension  of 
violence  or  insult,  and  in  perfect  safety,  a 
tour  of  the  island  on  foot,  alone  and  unpro- 
tected, though  bearing  about  her  the  most 
costly  jewels  and  ornaments  of  gold.  This 
legend  will  be  further  recalled  by  the  memory 
of  the  well-known  verses  beginning  "  Rich  and 
rare  were  the  gems  she  wore." 

It  was  at  Kincora  that  the  following  inci- 
dent took  place: 

Mselmurra,  Prince  of  Leinster,  playing  or 


no 


Romantic  Ireland 


advising  on  a  game  of  chess,  made  or  recom- 
mended a  false  move,  upon  which  the  patri- 
otic Morrogh,  son  of  Brian,  observed  that  it 
was  no  wonder  Maelmurra's  friends,  the  Danes 
(to  whom  he  owed  his  elevation),  were  beaten 
at  Glenmana,  if  he  gave  them  advice  like  that, 
Maelmurra,  highly  incensed  by  the  allusion, 
—  all  the  more  severe  for  its  bitter  truth,  — 
arose,  ordered  his  horse,  and  rode  away  in 
haste.  Brian,  when  he  heard  it,  despatched  a 
messenger  after  the  indignant  guest,  begging 
him  to  return;  but  Maelmurra  was  not  to  be 
pacified,  and  refused,  and  concerted  and  con- 
nived with  certain  Danish  agents,  always  open 
to  such  negotiations,  those  measures  which 
led  to  the  great  invasion  of  the  year  1014, 
in  which  the  whole  Scandinavian  race,  from 
Anglesea  and  Man,  north  to  Norway,  bore 
an  active  part. 

While  Brian  was  residing  at  Kincora,  news 
w'as  brought  of  his  noble-hearted  brother's 
death,  whereupon  he  was  seized  with  the  most 
violent  grief.  Brian's  favourite  harp  —  al- 
ways a  legendary  and  traditional  symbol  of 
Irish  emotions  —  was  taken  down,  and  he 
sang  that  famous  death-song  of  Mahon,  re- 


AN  IRISH  PIPER. 


The  Shannon  and  Its  Lakes  113 

counting  all  the  glorious  actions  of  his  life. 
"  His  anger  flashed  out  through  his  tears  as 
he  wildly  chanted  the  noble  lines,"  say  the 
chronicles. 

"  My  heart  shall  burst  within  my  breast, 
Unless  I  avenge  this  great  king. 
They  shall  forfeit  life  for  this  foul  deed, 
Or  I  must  perish  by  a  violent  death." 

Of  the  passionate  attachment  of  the  Irish 
for  music,  little  need  be  said,  as  this  is  one 
of  the  national  characteristics  which  has  been 
at  all  times  most  strongly  marked,  and  is  still 
most  widely  appreciated,  the  harp  being  uni- 
versally held  as  a  national  emblem  of  Ireland. 
Even  in  the  prechristian  period  that  we  are 
here  reviewing,  music  was  an  institution  and 
a  power  in  Erin. 

Few  spots  in  Ireland  are  richer  in  historical 
and  archaeological  interest  than  Killaloe. 
There  is  a  fine  specimen  of  sixth-century 
architecture  in  the  well-preserved  cell  of  St. 
Lua,  with  its  steep  roof  of  stone  and  cun- 
ningly devised  arches.  It  is  a  venerable  build- 
ing, and  nestles  under  the  shadow  of  the  pres- 
ent Protestant  cathedral,  built  by  O'Brien, 
King  of  Thomond,  in  the  twelfth  century. 


ii4 


Romantic  Ireland 


On  a  small  island  in  the  river  Shannon  are 
the  ruins  of  an  ancient  friary,  and  at  a  little 
distance  the  remains  of  a  small  chapel.  These 
are  said  to  mark  the  position  of  a  ford  used 
by  pilgrims  who  came  to  visit  Killaloe  before 
the  bridge,  which  is  itself  ancient,  was  built. 

Lough  Derg  is  reputedly  one  of  the  prettiest 
pieces  of  water  in  Ireland.  Its  shores  are  well 
wooded,  and  the  background  all  around  is 
made  up  of  swelling  upland,  dotted  here  and 
there  with  the  white  houses  of  the  peasantry, 
while  in  the  far  distance  are  the  heather-clad 
hills  of  the  Counties  Clare,  Galway,  and  Tippe- 
rary. 

In  Lough  Derg,  on  Station  Island,  is  the 
reputed  entrance  to  St.  Patrick's  Purgatory. 
A  wide-spread  superstition  accounts  for  its 
popularity,  but  whether  as  a  purely  "  tourist 
point  "  or  as  a  place  of  pilgrimage  for  peni- 
tents, it  were  better  not  to  attempt  to  judge. 

Tradition  has  it  that  St.  Patrick  had  pre- 
vailed on  God  to  place  the  entrance  to  purga- 
tory in  Ireland,  that  the  unbelievers  might 
the  more  readily  be  convinced  of  the  immortal- 
ity of  the  soul  and  of  the  sufferings  that 
awaited  the  wicked  after  death.   A  few  monks, 


The  Shannon  and  Its  Lakes  115 

according  to  Boate,  an  old  Irish  writer,  dwelt 
near  the  cavern  that  formed  the  entrance. 
"  Whoever  came  to  the  island  with  the  inten- 
tion of  descending  into  the  cavern  and  examin- 
ing its  wonders  had  to  prepare  himself  by  long 
vigils,  fasts,  and  prayers,  to  strengthen  him, 
as  we  are  told,  for  his  dangerous  expedition; 
but,  in  reality,  by  reducing  his  bodily  strength 
to  make  his  imagination  more  ready  to  receive 
the  impressions  which  it  was  thought  desirable 
to  leave  upon  his  mind.  He  was  then  let  down 
into  the  cavern,  whence,  after  an  interval  of 
several  hours,  he  was  drawn  up  again  half- 
dead,  and,  when  he  recovered  his  senses,  min- 
gling the  wild  dreams  of  his  own  imagination 
with  what  the  monks  told  him,  he  seldom 
failed  to  tell  the  most  marvellous  tales  of  the 
place  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  It  was  not 
till  the  reign  of  James  II.  that  the  monks  were 
driven  away  from  the  place,  and  the  mystery 
of  the  dark  cavern  dissolved." 

From  Killaloe  to  Portumna,  the  Shannon 
flows  through  Lough  Derg,  a  wide-spread 
waterway,  an  elaborate  expansion  of  the  river 
itself.  This  lake,  which  is  twenty-five  miles 
long  and  from  two  to  six  miles  in  breadth, 


1 1 6  Romantic  Ireland 


has  an  average  depth  of  about  fifty  feet.  Close 
to  Portumna  is  the  Castle  of  Ballynasheera, 
said  to  have  been  once  the  residence  of  Ireton, 
Oliver  Cromwell's  son-in-law. 

From  Ben  Hill,  a  few  miles  below  Por- 
tumna, near  Woodford,  is  a  splendid  view  of 
Lough  Derg  and  the  surrounding  country. 
The  lake  here  stretches  along  between  the 
Slieve  Aughty  Mountains  on  the  Connaught 
side  and  the  Arra  Mountains  on  the  Munster 
side,  whose  lofty  summits  tower  up  high  into 
the  clouds.  The  shores,  sloping  -gradually 
down  to  the  water,  are  covered  with  luxurious 
foliage,  through  openings  in  which  may  be 
seen  the  ruins  of  many  an  ancient  castle  and 
once  stately  mansion. 

Portumna  itself  is  a  flourishing  town,  but 
of  no  great  antiquarian  interest.  The  popula- 
tion of  town  and  district  is  about  two  thou- 
sand. 

Near  by  is  Victoria  Lock,  Melleek,  adjacent 
to  which  are  two  strongly  built  towers,  which 
formerly  mounted  eight  guns,  and  which,  in 
more  romantic  times,  were  erected  to  guard 
the  pass  of  the  Shannon  between  Connaught 
and  Leinster. 


Stone  of  the  Divisions  Weshneath 


The  Shannon  and  Its  Lakes  119 

Shannon  Harbour,  at  which  the  Grand  Canal 
joins  the  Shannon,  is  situated  on  the  river 
about  six  or  seven  miles  from  Shannon  Bridge, 
and  is  immortalized  by  Charles  Lever  in  "  Jack 
Hinton." 

As  a  tourist  resort  the  town  appears  to  have 
degenerated  sadly,  a  pretentious  hotel  estab- 
lishment having  been  converted  over  into  bar- 
racks for  the  constabulary. 

From  Shannon  Harbour  the  steamer  passes 
Shannon  Bridge,  and  in  due  course  reaches 
Athlone  at  the  lower  end  of  Lough  Ree. 
"  Population,  seven  thousand.  Industry, 
manufacture  of  the  celebrated  woollen  tweeds, 
which  provides  employment  for  several  hun- 
dred operators,  both  male  and  female;  there 
are  various  other  smaller  manufacturing  in- 
dustries pursued  by  the  town  population.  In 
the  rural  districts,  cattle  rearing,  both  in  West- 
meath  and  Roscommon,  and  the  pursuit  of 
general  agriculture  is  principally  followed,  and 
the  inhabitants  of  these  rural  districts  are 
generally  comfortable  and  fairly  well-to-do." 
Such  is  the  usual  guide-book  information  con- 
cerning Athlone,  which  lies  at  the  juncture  of 
Roscommon  and  Westmeath. 


120  Romantic  Ireland 


As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  almost  every 
stone  in  the  prosperous  little  city  has  a  his- 
toric interest  and  value,  from  the  ruins  of  its 
former  splendid  ecclesiastical  establishments  to 
its  old  houses  and  still  more  ancient  fortifi- 
cations, and  the  castle  erected  in  12 15  by  King 
John,  —  a  counterpart  in  every  respect  of  a 
similar  establishment  at  Limerick.  Queen 
Elizabeth  made  Athlone  the.  capital  of  Con- 
naught.  After  the  battle  of  the  Boyne,  it 
underwent  two  sieges  from  the  forces  of  King 
William.  Some  traces  of  the  old  fortifications 
may  be  seen,  and  the  castle  is  still  in  perfect 
repair. 

Just  north  of  Athlone,  where  the  Shannon 
joins  Lough  Ree,  is  Auburn,  more  popularly 
known  as  "  Sweet  Auburn,"  whose  old  ruined 
parsonage  is  famous  as  the  early  home  of 
Oliver  Goldsmith. 

Fleeting  time  has  changed  this  modest  man- 
sion —  whose  ruin  was  deplored  by  Goldsmith 
himself  —  but  little.  It  stands  about  a  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  public  road  at  the  end  of 
a  straight  avenue  bordered  with  ash-trees,  — 
a  plain  rectangular,  two-storied  house,  built 
in  the  ugly  and  uncompromising  style  that 


The  Shannon  and  Its  Lakes  123 

was  popular  in  Ireland  in  the  early  part  of 
the  seventeenth  century.  The  roof  is  off,  but 
the  walls  remain,  and  seem  still  to  be  haunted 
by  the  shade  of  the  Rev.  Charles  Goldsmith, 
the  original  Doctor  Primrose  in  "  The  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,"  while  his  wife,  hospitable  as 
of  yore,  still  seems  to  invite  the  passing 
stranger  to  taste  her  gooseberry  wine.  The 
famous  inn,  —  since  rebuilt  out  of  all  resem- 
blance to  its  former  self,  —  immortalized  by 
Goldsmith,  and  known  as  the  Three  Pigeons, 
where  were  drawn  the  "  inspired  nut-brown 
draughts,"  and  "  where  village  statesmen 
talked  with  looks  profound/'  is  but  a  little 
distance  from  the  house.  The  country  all 
around  Lishoy  —  for  that  is  the  name  of  the 
townland  in  which  Toberclare,  this  Mecca  of 
the  Goldsmith  student,  is  situated  —  is  well 
wooded  and  cultivated.  The  drive  from  Ath- 
lone  to  "  Sweet  Auburn  "  is  one  of  the  most 
delightful  in  Ireland.  As  the  reputed  locale 
of  "  The  Deserted  Village/'  Auburn,  or 
Lishoy,  as  it  was  formerly  known,  has  an 
unusual  share  of  interest  for  the  literary  pil- 
grim. 

Goldsmith  was  not  born  at  Lishoy,  as  is 


Romantic  Ireland 


sometimes  stated,  but  in  Pallas,  a  village  in  the 
County  Longford,  his  father  being  at  the  time 
a  poor  curate  and  farmer.  The  infancy  of 
Oliver  wias,  however,  spent  in  Lishoy,  and 
there  is  little  doubt  but  that  the  scenes  of  his 
childhood  became  afterward  the  imaginative 
sources  whence  he  drew  the  picture  of  "  Sweet 
Auburn,"  though  it  is  doubtless  true  that  the 
descriptions  are  general  enough  in  character 
to  apply  to  many  localities  in  England  as  well 
as  Ireland : 

"  Sweet  Auburn  !  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 

Where  health  and  plenty  cheer'd  the  labouring  swain ; 

Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visits  paid, 

And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delay'd. 

Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease, 

Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please ; 

How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  green, 

Where  humble  happiness  endear'd  each  scene  ! 

How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm  ! 

The  shelter'd  cot,  the  cultivated  farm : 

The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill ; 

The  decent  church  that  topp'd  the  neighbouring  hill ; 

The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 

For  talking  age,  and  whispering  lovers  made." 

Attempts  have  been  made  from  time  to  time 
to  justify  the  procedure,  which  is  customary 


The  Shannon  and  Its  Lakes  125 

here,  of  stripping  the  hawthorn  of  its  blos- 
soms to  sell  to  tourists;  and  to  explain  that 
it  is  a  perfectly  legitimate  and  artistic  thing 
to  have  hung  the  old  broken  plates  and  cups 
of  the  erstwhile  Three  Pigeons  on  the  walls 
of  the  new  inn.  Sir  Walter  Scott  attempted 
to  justify  all  this  as  "  a  pleasing  tribute  to  the 
poet,"  but  there  is  a  hollow  mockery  about 
it  all  that  will  make  the  true  pilgrim  hasten 
to  commune  with 

"  The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill ;  " 

and 

"  The  decent  church  that  topped  the  neighbouring  hill," 

all  three  of  which  exist  to-day,  and  bear  a 
far  greater  likeness  to  the  description  of  the 
poet  than  does  the  reputed  inn. 

Through  Lough  Ree  one  journeys  along 
historical  ground.  Rindown  Castle  was  built, 
it  is  said,  by  Turgesius,  a  Dane,  who  made  of 
it  an  impregnable  stronghold,  as  may  be  read- 
ily believed  when  one  views  its  rocky  promon- 
tory. 

The  island  of  Inchcleraun,  commonly  called 
"  Quaker  Island,"  is  associated  with  early 


126 


Romantic  Ireland 


Celtic  Christianity,  and  has  on  it  the  remains 
of  six  churches.  On  this  island,  Queen  Meave 
is  said  to  have  been  killed,  while  bathing,  by 
an  Ulster  chieftain,  who  threw  a  stone  from 
a  sling  while  standing  on  the  shore. 

Knockcroghery  Bay  leads  to  Roscommon, 
the  chief  town  of  the  county  of  the  same  name. 
It  had  its  origin  at  the  time  when  St.  Coman 
founded  a  monastery  there,  and  to-day  may 
still  be  seen  elaborate  remains  of  a  former 
Dominican  establishment  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  of  a  fortified  castle  of  the  same 
era. 

At  the  head  of  the  eastern  arm  is  All  Saints' 
Island,  on  which  are  the  well-preserved  re- 
mains of  a  church  and  monastery,  —  an  an- 
cient foundation  which,  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  was  occupied  by  the  nunnery  of  the 
Poor  Clares,  but  was  burnt  by  the  soldiery 
in  1642.  It  is  recorded  that  the  peasants  of 
Kilkenny  West  retaliated  by  killing  the  des- 
troyers. 

Inchbonin,  the  "  Island  of  the  White  Cow," 
contains  the  remains  of  a  church  and  monas- 
tery, the  foundation  of  the  religious  house 
being  attributed  to  St.  Rioch,  a  nephew  of 


The  Shannon  and  Its  Lakes  127 

St.  Patrick.  Here,  also,  are  the  remains  of 
several  Celtic  crosses. 

Entering  the  Shannon  proper  again  at 
Lanesborough,  one  finally  reaches  Carrick-on- 
Shannon,  in  itself  uninteresting  enough,  but 
a  centre  from  which  a  vast  amount  of  profit- 
able knowledge  may  be  obtained.  It  is  the 
gateway  of  the  pretty  valley  of  the  river  Boyle, 
where  stands  the  pleasant  little  town  of  the 
same  name,  with  its  famous  abbey,  which  is 
in  rather  a  better  state  of  preservation  than 
many  "  chronicles  in  stone."  The  choir,  nave, 
and  transepts  are  all  in  existence,  and  show, 
in  their  construction,  all  the  elements  of  the 
West  Norman  and  Gothic  work  of  their  time. 
The  nave,  with  its  hundred  and  thirty-five 
semicircular  arches,  which  separate  it  from 
its  aisles,  is  perhaps  the  best  and  most  char- 
acteristic Norman  feature,  if  we  except  the 
square  heavy  tower.  In  1235,  the  English 
sacked  these  sacred  precincts,  and  even  —  it 
is  said  —  stripped  the  monks  of  their  gowns. 
In  1595  it  was  turned  into  a  fortress  and  be- 
sieged by  the  army  of  the  Earl  of  Tyrone. 

From  the  "  Hibernia  Illustrata "  we  learn 
that,  "  In  the  cemetery  of  Kilbronan,  not  far 


128  Romantic  Ireland 

from  Boyle,  was  buried  the  famous  Carolan, 
one  of  the  last  of  the  veritable  Irish  bards; 
and  here  for  several  years  the  skull  that  had 
i  once  been  the  seat  of  so  much  verse  and 
music/  was  placed  in  the  niche  of  the  old 
church,  decorated,  not  with  laurel,  but  with 
a  black  ribbon.  He  died  in  the  neighbourhood 
in  the  year  1741,  at  a  very  advanced  age,  not- 
withstanding that  he  had  been  in  a  state  of 
intoxication  during  probably  seven-eighths  of 
his  life/' 

From  this  we  may  infer  that,  if  liquor  was 
not  more  potent  in  those  days,  it  was  at  least 
less  expensive. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GALWAY  AND  ITS  BAY 

IT  may  not  be  recognized,  it  certainly  is 
not  a  widely  known  fact,  that  Galway  at 
one  time  —  however  extraordinary  it  may  now 
appear  —  arrived  at  a  pitch  of  mercantile 
greatness  superior,  with  the  single  exception  of 
London,  to  any  port  in  what  is  now  known 
as  the  British  Isles. 

From  an  original  letter  from  Henry  Crom- 
well and  the  Irish  Privy  Council,  dated  Gal- 
way, 7th  April,  1657,  we  learn  that: 

"  For  situation,  voisenage,  and  commerce 
it  hath  with  Spain,  the  Strayts,  West  Indies, 
and  other  parts,  noe  towhe  or  port  in  the  three 
nations  (London  excepted)  was  more  con- 
siderable." 

"  Another  city  so  ancient  as  Galway  does 
not  exist  in  Ireland/'  says  an  old-time  trav- 
eller. 


129 


130  Romantic  Ireland 


"  Its  situation  is  flat  and  unpicturesque,  bat 
the  universality  of  red  petticoats,  and  the  same 
brilliant  colour  in  most  other  articles  of  female 
dress,  gives  a  foreign  aspect  to  the  population, 
which  prepares  you  somewhat  for  the  com- 
pletely Italian  or  Spanish  look  of  most  of  the 
streets  of  the  town."  "  In  Galway,"  writes 
Kohl,  "  the  metropolis  of  the  west,  and  a 
Hesperian  colony,  he  (the  traveller)  will  find 
a  quaint  and  peculiar  city,  with  antiquities  such 
as  he  will  meet  with  nowhere  else.  The  old 
town  is  throughout  of  Spanish  architecture, 
with  wide  gateways,  broad  stairs,  and  all  the 
fantastic  ornaments  calculated  to  carry  the 
imagination  back  to  Granada  and  Valencia. 
Then  the  town,  with  its  monks,  churches,  and 
convents,  has  a  completely  Catholic  air;  and 
the  population  of  the  adjoining  country  have 
preserved  something  of  their  picturesque  na- 
tional costume." 

From  the  earliest  times,  especially  about  the 
fourteenth  century,  and  until  a  later  period, 
extensive  trade  was  carried  on  betwixt  Spain 
and  Ireland.  Galway  was  always  one  of  the 
principal  ports  frequented  by  foreigners.  The 
richer  merchants  of  the  town  made  periodical 


Galway  and  Its  Bay  131 

visits  to  Spain,  and  returned  with  Spanish 
luxuries  and  Spanish  ideas.  The  result  of  this 
Was  that  mansions  in  Spanish  style  arose  and 
were  filled  with  Spanish  furniture;  while  the 
ladies  used  in  their  dresses  the  bright  colours 
and  light  textures  of  Spain.  It  is  reasonable, 
too,  to  suppose  that  in  many  instances  Span- 
ish servants,  seamen,  and  even  workmen, 
formed  alliances  with  the  natives  of  the  soil, 
and  thus  the  population  became,  not  only  in 
dress  but  in  blood,  allied  tc  their  foreign  visit- 
ors. Many  of  the  houses  built  for  the  mer- 
chant princes  of  Galway  still  remain,  though 
in  a  dilapidated  state,  and  have  come  to  be 
occupied  by  the  poorest  inhabitants.  Truly, 
"  Galway  was  a  famous  town  when  its  Spanish 
merchants  were  princes;  but  their  fine  dwell- 
ings were  at  one  time  usurped  and  defaced 
by  the  rabble,  and  little  remains  of  the  inte- 
riors to  show  their  ancient  glory."  It  is  prob- 
able that,  besides  the  Spaniards,  the  Italians 
also  traded  with  Galway,  and  that  banks  were 
instituted  by  Jews  from  Lombardy.  Little 
more  than  fifty  years  ago,  "  the  tribes  of  Gal- 
way "  claimed  to  themselves  the  exclusive 
right  of  exercising  certain  civil  privileges. 


132 


Romantic  Ireland 


Just  how  far  one  may  go  in  promulgating 
a  theory,  in  a  book  such  as  this,  remains  an 
open  question.  With  regard  to  the  Spaniards 
in  Ireland,  it  is  not  so  much  conjecture  as  to 
the  time  of  their  advent,  or  their  numbers, 
as  it  is  with  the  causes  which  led  up  to  it. 
Galway  was  one  day  to  be  the  pride  and  hope 
of  Erin's  Isle.  This  we  all  know  and  recog- 
nize, and,  with  this  end  in  view,  huge  ware- 
houses and  quays  were  built  to  accommodate 
a  vast  ocean-borne  traffic  which  was  to  come 
and  make  it  the  rival  of  Liverpool.  One  may 
walk  along  these  quays  to-day  and  see  the 
ruin  of  all  this  enterprise,  for  Galway,  despite 
its  seventeen  thousand  inhabitants,  is  a  town 
which  bears,  in  its  every  aspect,  the  appear- 
ance of  a  place  that  has  already  sunk  into 
irretrievable  decay. 

As  a  gateway  to  Connemara,  Galway  still 
exercises  great  influence  on  the  prosperity  of 
the  west  of  Ireland,  and,  moreover,  has  an 
historic  interest  which  cannot  fail  to  be  at- 
tractive to  the  tourist  for  all  time  to  come. 
Recalling  how  James  Lynch  FitzStephen,  in 
1493,  condemned  and  actually  executed  with 
his  own  hands  his  only  son  Walter,  who  had 


Galway  and  Its  Bay  133 


murdered  a  young  Spaniard,  brings  us  to  the 
fact  that  Galway  was  at  one  time  more  a  city 
of  Spain  than  of  Ireland. 

In  ancient  times  Galway  was  the  most  fa- 
mous port  in  Ireland,  and  had  a  very  exten- 
sive trade,  especially  with  the  ports  of  His- 
paniola.  Many  Spanish  merchants,  sailors, 
and  fishermen  settled  here,  until,  at  one  time, 
probably  one-fourth  of  the  population  of  the 
town  was  pure  Spanish.  They  built  their 
houses  after  the  Spanish  pattern,  and  mingled 
with  the  native  Irish  population;  but  not, 
however,  without  leaving  upon  it  the  inerad- 
icable mark  and  powerful  impress  of  their  own 
character,  and  imparting  the  superstition,  the 
temperament,  and  the  physical  qualities  of 
their  race. 

Moreover,  it  is  said  that  a  large  portion  of 
the  famed  Armada  was  wrecked  off  the  Gal- 
way coast;  and  that,  in  addition  to  those 
already  there,  these  survivors  settled  and  mul- 
tiplied. In  consequence,  much  of  the  ancient 
architecture  —  discernible  even  to-day  —  is 
obviously  of  Spanish  origin;  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  the  Spaniards  have  left  their  im- 
press on  the  features  and  character  of  the 


*34 


Romantic  Ireland 


inhabitants  of  the  town  and  the  near-by  dis- 
tricts. One  notes  this  as  he  strolls  through 
the  market,  where  the  women  are  selling  fish, 
for  the  most  part  consisting  of  sea-bream, 
red  mullet,  conger-eels,  and  lobsters.  In  their 
complexions,  their  dark  hair  and  eyes,  their 
high  cheek-bones,  and  their  carriage,  —  in  the 
mantilla-like  way  in  which  they  wear  their 
shawls,  and  in  the  brilliant  colours  of  their 
costumes,  —  they  bear  a  striking  resemblance 
to  the  fisherwomen  of  Cadiz  and  Malaga.  The 
men  are  even  more  strikingly  Spanish. 

The  speech  is  curious,  too.  It  is  Gaelic,  but 
it  is  full  of  Spanish  idioms  and  terminations. 
These  people  live  for  the  most  part  in  a  village 
called  the  Claddagh,  whose  population  for- 
merly kept  itself  quite  distinct  from  its  Irish 
neighbours.  The  people  married  only  among 
themselves;  had  their  own  religion;  in  a 
measure,  their  own  municipal  government; 
and  pursued  their  own  way  without  any  ref- 
erence to  what  went  on  around  them.  Of 
late,  however,  this  exclusiveness  has,  to  a 
large  extent,  been  broken  down.  Still  the 
Claddagh  is  a  spot  which  has  no  parallel  else- 


1 


(  1 


Galway  and  Its  Bay  137 


where  in  Ireland,  and  is  a  distinct  survival 
of  the  original  Spanish  settlement. 

The  Galway  fisheries  are  still,  and  always 
have  been,  an  important  economic  factor  in 
the  life  of  these  parts.  Their  conduct  is  a 
feature  no  less  interesting  in  many  ways  than 
the  more  aesthetic  aspects  of  the  region.  No- 
where else  in  the  island  can  such  a  sight  be 
seen  as  in  the  salmon  season  may  be  observed 
from  Galway  Bridge,  when  the  water  in  the 
river  is  low.  One  looks  oyer  the  bridge  into 
the  water,  and  sees  what  is  apparently  the  dark 
bed  of  the  river;  but  drop  in  a  pebble,  and 
instantly  there  is  a  splash  and  a  flash  of  silver, 
and  a  general  movement  along  the  whole  bed 
of  the  stream.  Then  one  comes  to  know  that 
what  apparently  were  closely  packed  stones  are 
salmon,  squeezed  together  like  herrings  in  a 
barrel,  unable  to  get  up-stream  for  want  of 
water. 

This  salmon  fishery,  together  with  the  fish- 
eries on  the  coast,  constitute  the  staple  indus- 
tries of  the  district;  and,  as  a  business  prop- 
osition, might  appeal  largely  to  some  company 
promoter  w;ere  he  able  to  corner  the  supply 
and  control  the  traffic.    The  hardihood  of  the 


138  Romantic  Ireland 


population,  their  aptitude  for  seamanship,  their 
industrious  habits,  and  their  thrifty  instincts 
make  them  so  capable  of  rising  to  any  oppor- 
tunities that  may  be  offered  to  them,  that  there 
is  no  reason  why  Galway  should  not  become 
as  great  a  fishing-port  as  any  on  the  east 
coast  of  England. 

Galway  is  full  of  memorials  of  its  ancient 
days  of  commercial  greatness,  when  wealthy 
merchant  families  inhabited  the  fine  stone 
mansions  now  fallen  into  ruins;  and  tales  of 
former  glories  are  on  everybody's  lips.  There 
is  no  dearth  of  anecdote  about  Galway.  Some 
of  it  is  fact;  much  of  it  doubtless  is  not;  but 
there  seems  no  reason  why  one  could  not  ex- 
pand a  short  chapter  of  its  history  into  a  great 
book  were  he  so  inclined. 

Galway  was  practically  "  discovered "  by 
the  English  in  the  thirteenth  century,  "  when 
they  took  possession  of  the  desirable  little 
town,"  and  portioned  it  out  among  thirteen 
English  families  —  those  of  Athy,  Blake, 
Bodkin,  Browne,  Deane,  D'Arcy,  Lynch, 
Joyce,  Kirwan,  Martin,  Morris,  Skerret,  and 
French.  These  became  known  as  the  Tribes 
of  Galway,  and  before  long  became  "  more 


Gal  way  and  Its  Bay  139 


Irish  than  the  Irish  themselves."  This  we 
learn  from  the  written  records ;  but,  since  they 
exist  so  completely  and  lucidly,  there  seems 
no  reason  to  quarrel  with  the  statement. 

The  Lynches  were,  and  are,  the  most  numer- 
ous and  important  of  the  Tribes  of  Galway. 
The  name  is  said  to  be  aboriginal  or  at  least 
Celtic,  and  again  tradition  has  it  that  all  the 
Lynches  are  descended  from  the  daughter  and 
heiress  of  a  certain  lord  marshal  of  the  county 
of  Galway  in  the  year  1280.  In  1442  a  certain 
Edmond  Lynch  FitzThomas  built  at  his  own 
expense  a  bridge  called  the  West  Bridge,  and 
twenty  years  later  another,  Gorman  Lynch, 
held  a  patent  for  coining  money;  and  yet 
another,  James  Lynch  FitzStephen,  the  fa- 
mous Warden  of  Galway,  whose  notoriety 
has  been  described  in  Dutton's  "  Survey  of 
Galway  "  (1824),  lived  at  the  end  of  the  same 
century. 

As  described  by  Dutton,  the  "  notorious  " 
incident  arose  from  Lynch  FitzStephen  hav- 
ing sent  his  only  son  to  Spain  on  some  com- 
mercial affairs,  who,  returning  with  the  son 
of  his  father's  Spanish  friend  and  a  valuable 
cargo,  conspired  with  the  crew  to  murder  and 


140 


Romantic  Ireland 


throw  him  overboard,  and  convert  the  prop- 
erty to  their  own  use.  One  of  the  party,  as 
providentially  happens  in  most  such  cases, 
revealed  the  horrid  transaction  to  the  mayor. 
He  tried  and  condemned  his  son  to  death, 
and  appointed  a  day  for  his  execution.  It 
was  imagined  by  his  relatives  that,  through 
their  intercession,  and  the  consideration  of 
his  being  an  only  son,  he  would  not  proceed 
to  put  the  sentence  into  execution.  He  told 
them  to  come  to  him  on  a  certain  day,  and 
they  should  have  his  determination.  Early 
on  the  day  appointed,  they  found  the  son  hang- 
ing out  of  one  of  the  windows  of  his  father's 
house.  It  was  commemorated  by  the  cross- 
bones  in  Lombard  Street. 

Further  records  have  it  that  the  stone  bear- 
ing the  cross-bones  was  not  put  up  for  many 
years  after  the  transaction,  when  it  was 
erected  on  the  wall  of  St.  Nicholas's  church- 
yard, and  bore  the  inscription: 


1524 

Remember  Death. 
All  is  vanity  of  vanities. 


/ 


juJoe  Lynch*  s  House,  Gal  way 


Gal  way  and  Its  Bay  143 


From  this  incident  —  a  recorded  fact  of  his- 
tory be  it  remembered  —  the  familiar  "  Amer- 
icanism "  (sic)  of  "  lyneh-law "  probably 
received  its  derivation.  At  any  rate,  the  cir- 
cumstance is  one  of  significance  and  plausi- 
bility, or  it  shows  once  again  how  the  seed 
of  coincidence  takes  root  and  thrives  many 
thousands  of  miles  from  the  land  of  its  first 
growth. 

Galway  has  ever  been  an  important  com- 
mercial centre,  and  rightly  enough  points  out 
the  fact  that  to  be  as  proud  and  honest  as  a 
Galway  merchant  is  to  be  reckoned  as  one 
of  the  upright  of  this  world.  It  is  a  curious 
fact  that,  notwithstanding  the  maritime  re- 
sources of  Galway,  salt  was  one  of  the  com- 
modities imported  to  it  from  Spain,  and  so 
highly  was  the  import  prized  that  John 
French,  who  was  mayor  in  1538,  bore  the 
distinguishing  appellation  of  Shane  ne  Sallin. 

The  county  of  Galway  must  have  been  a 
quarrelsome  and  belligerent  community  in 
times  past,  judging  from  the  fact  that  local 
history  gives  elaborate  accounts  of  certain 
fighting  gentlemen  known  as  "  Blue-Blaze- 
Devil-Bob,"    "  Nineteen-Duel-Dick,"    "  Hair- 


144 


Romantic  Ireland 


Trigger-Pat,"  and  "  Feather-Spring-Ned." 
But  these  honourable  cognomens  are  no  longer 
cited  with  a  voice  of  triumph  by  the  leading 
citizens;  and  it  may  be  presumed  that  Hair- 
Trigger  and  Blaze-Devil  exploits  are  becom- 
ing rarer.  There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  but 
that  this  is  so,  judging  from  appearances  and 
experiences  with  which  one  comes  in  contact 
to-day. 

Historians,  anthropologists,  and  antiquari- 
ans have  attempted  before  now  to  draw  com- 
parisons between  the  inhabitants  of  Galway 
and  those  of  Spain.  The  circumstance  has 
been  authenticated  and  remarked  frequently; 
but  it  is  interesting,  if  not  valuable,  to  have 
a  native  first-hand  opinion  on  the  subject. 

An  elderly  gentleman  whom  the  author  once 
met,  who  had  lived  in  Spain  and  Galway 
respectively  a  number  of  years,  remarked 
many  characteristics  in  common  among  the 
middle  class;  and,  again,  at  the  proceedings 
of  a  philosophical  society,  it  was  stated  that 
"  in  the  lower  and  more  vulgar  classes,  the 
old  Milesian  habits  still  prevail."  Rather  a 
contemptuous  way  of  putting  it  this,  but  in- 
dolence, or  at  least  something  more  than  a 


Gal  way  and  Its  Bay  145 


trace  of  it,  is,  one  must  admit,  still  apparent 
in  both  places. 

Of  the  spoken  speech  of  Galway  much  has 
been  written,  and  with  good  excuse,  for  Span- 
ish idioms  and  words  still  come  to  the  surface 
here,  as  does  the  French  tongue  in  certain 
parts  of  Scotland. 

The  writer  recalls  an  incident  in  the  ex- 
periences of  an  ardent  automobilist,  which 
took  place  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Galway: 

He  was  driving  down  an  extremely  steep 
hill,  and  was  barely  able  to  keep  the  automo- 
bile in  hand.  There  was  a  safe  "  run-down  " 
ahead,  but  a  number  of  Irish-speaking  chil- 
dren kept  dancing  and  running  around  in  front, 
deaf  to  his  uncomprehended  cries  of  "  Get 
away!  Take  care!  you'll  be  run  over!"  and 
it  seemed  likely  that  some  one  would  be  killed 
when  the  motor-car  should  get  its  head.  Just 
as  that  disaster  became  imminent,  however, 
the  driver  remembered  the  one  Irish  word  he 
understood,  —  "  Faugh-a-ballagh !  "  (a  fa- 
mous war-cry .  of  olden  times,  equivalent  to 
"Clear  the  way").  He  only  remembered 
it  as  the  name  of  a  race-horse,  but  yelled  it 
out;  and  the  children  sprang  out  of  his  way 


146  Romantic  Ireland 


like  arrows,  just  in  time  to  let  the  car  rush 
safely  past. 

Galway,  too,  has  the  reputation  of  being  one 
of  the  few  counties  left  (Cork  is  another) 
where  the  typical  "  Paddy  "  of  romance  is  to 
be  found.  That  is,  so  far  as  his  or  her  dress 
is  concerned;  and,  truth  to  tell,  it  has  all  but 
disappeared  from  here,  for  it  is  only  of  a 
bright  summer  Sunday,  or  some  local  feast- 
day,  that  the  Irishman,  dressed  as  in  the  chorus 
of  a  comic  opera,  is  ever  seen. 

In  Galway  itself,  on  an  important  market- 
day,  he  is  still  to  be  seen,  and  forms  a  pic- 
turesque note  to  the  surroundings  which  the 
sentimentalist  would  indeed  otherwise  miss. 
He  is  found  in  knee-breeches  and  tail  coat, 
high  caubeen  with  a  pipe  stuck  in  it,  and  long 
home-knit  stockings,  accompanied  by  the  Gal- 
way women  in  short  scarlet  petticoat  and  close- 
hooded  cloak.  All  the  latter  wear  this  dress, 
by  the  way.  There  is  practically  not  a  woman 
of  the  working  class  in  the  town  —  certainly 
not  one  in  the  Claddagh  fishing  quarter  — 
who  does  not  cling  to  this  bit  of  colour,  as 
thick  as  a  blanket  and  very  fleecy.  It  is  spun, 
woven,  and  made  at  home;  and,  as  a  result, 


Gal  way  and  Its  Bay  147 


raggedness  is  exceedingly  infrequent  among 
the  Galway  natives.  Indeed,  all  Connemara  is 
remarkable  for  the  clean,  neat,  and  whole 
clothing  of  its  people,  who  are  otherwise  pov- 
erty-stricken. It  is  only  in  great  towns,  where 
the  poor  clothe  themselves  in  slop-shop  stuffs 
and  cast-off  garments  of  the  upper  classes, 
that  they  are  ragged  and  unkempt.  Home- 
spuns and  tweeds,  such  as  wle  are  accustomed 
to  see  only  in  smart  coat  and  skfrt  costumes, 
or  expensive  shooting  suits,  are  the  daily  wear 
of  every  one.  They  cost  little,  —  only  the 
keep  of  a  few  hardy  mountain  sheep,  from 
which  the  wool  is  obtained,  the  loan  of  a  spin- 
ning-wheel from  a  neighbour,  and  the  small 
fee  of  a  local  hand-loom  weaver.  Thus  the 
people  of  Mayo  and  Galway,  though  often  at 
other  times  miserably  clad,  go  about  with  a 
neat  "  tailor-made  "  aspect  that  is  astonishing. 

The  tourists,  i.  e.,  the  ladies,  buy  the  charm- 
ing Claddagh  cloaks  and  bolts  of  homespun, 
which  ultimately  appear  in  more  fashionable 
centres  as  the  last  thing  in  the  world  of  fash- 
ion. 

Another  form  of  souvenir,  which  appears 
to  be  irresistible,  is  the  peculiar  marriage-ring 


148 


Romantic  Ireland 


of  Claddagh.  This  particular  pattern  has  been 
the  marriage-ring  of  the  Claddagh  fishing 
tribes  for  many  centuries.  Indeed,  every  peas- 
ant matron  in  the  county  wears  one.  The  de- 
sign is  that  of  a  heart  over  two  clasped  hands, 
surmounted  by  a  crown,  the  signification  be- 
ing "  Love  and  friendship  reign."  Among 
the  upper  classes  in  Ireland,  these  rings  are 
often  used  as  guards  for  engagement  and  wed- 
ding rings. 

A  more  interesting  monument  than  any 
memorial  stone  in  the  abbey,  or,  indeed,  in 
Sligo,  is  Misgoun  Meave,  which  dominates 
the  whole  neighbourhood,  the  traditional 
burial-place  of  Queen  Meave.  On  the  top 
of  Knocknarea,  a  hill  over  one  thousand  feet 
high,  stands  an  immense  cairn  of  stones,  al- 
most like  a  second  peak  to  the  hill.  Here, 
overlooking  a  wide  range  of  beautiful  sea- 
coast  and  country,  tradition  states  that  the 
famous  Irish  Queen  of  Connaught,  after  she 
had  buried  three  husbands,  chose  her  tomb. 
Nearly  two  thousand  years  have  passed  since 
the  date  popularly  assigned  to  her  reign,  but 
there  can  be  no  reasonable  doubt  that  she  was 
a  thoroughly  genuine  personality,  and  left  her 


Galway  and  Its  Bay  149 


individual  mark  upon  the  history  of  her  time. 
Like  Boadicea,  she  led  her  own  armies  in  per- 
son, and  seems,  according  to  the  wild  legends 
told  of  her  exploits,  to  have  been  an  Amazon 
of  terrible  reputation  and  dauntless  courage. 
She  had  the  red-gold  hair  that  may  still  be 
seen  in  Connaught,  —  a  heritage  popularly 
supposed  to  have  descended  from  her,  —  and 
wore  it  flowing  like  a  mantle  over  her.  Her 
beauty  was  considerable,  her  temper  ungov- 
ernable, and  her  virtue,  apparently,  doubtful. 
She  was  often  accompanied  to  battle  by  her 
stalwart  sons  of  middle  age;  and  her  own 
years  are  reported  to  have  counted  well  over 
a  century  before  death  at  last  loosened  her 
iron  grip  on  blood-stained  Connaught.  One 
can  well  understand  how  such  a  woman,  dying, 
chose  to  be  buried  where,  even  in  death,  her 
sightless  eyes  might  look  down  upon  the  land 
of  lake  and  island,  forest,  hill,  and  sea  that 
had  been  hers  so  long. 

A  lively  French  writer,  who  travelled  in 
Ireland  in  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  was  evidently  much  smitten  with  the 
fair  sex. 

He  says,  in  part: 


150  Romantic  Ireland 


"  The  greatest  gaiety  reigns  there,  —  in 
fact,  the  belles  of  Galway  are  capable  of  in- 
structing most  French  young  ladies  in  the  art 
of  coquetry.  In  the  early  morning,  one  sees 
five  or  six  young  ladies,  perched  upon  a  jaunt- 
ing-car, go  two  miles  from  the  city  to  refresh 
their  charms  by  a  sea  bath,  and  in  the  after- 
noon, if  there  be  no  assembly,  they  go  from 
shop  to  shop,  buying,  laughing,  and  chatting 
with  their  friends.  There  are  many  in  this 
city  who  grow  old  without  knowing  it." 

All  of  which  seems  a  simple  and  innocuous 
enough  amusement.  In  spite  of  which,  how- 
ever, no  very  apparent  coquettishness  on  the 
part  of  Galway  young  ladies  is  to  be  noted 
to-day,  —  at  least,  it  has  not  been  observed 
by  the  writer  of  this  book.  Perhaps  that 
merely  points  to  a  lack  of  susceptibility  on  his 
part. 

T.  P.  O'Connor  once  told  the  story  of  a 
travelling  showman  who  brought  to  Galway 
from  America  a  panorama  of  America.  "  He 
knew  what  he  was  about/'  said  Mr.  O'Connor, 
"  when  he  declared  that  Chesapeake  Bay  was 
the  finest  bay  in  the  world  with  two  excep- 


Gal  way  and  Its  Bay  151 


tions,  —  the  Bay  of  Naples  and  the  Bay  of 
Galway;  and  he  was  very  loudly  cheered. 

"  Without  exaggeration,  it  is  a  beautiful 
bay,  almost  landlocked,  with  mountains  — 
small  enough  in  comparison  with  others,  but 
to  the  untravelled  eye  of  the  Irish  villager 
solemn  and  imposing  as  the  Matterhorn  — 
bounding  it  on  the  far  side,  and  with  a  some- 
what narrow  mouth  opening  out  into  the  At- 
lantic. A  mouth  that,  under  the  light  of  morn- 
ing or  evening,  is  something  to  suggest  either 
the  vastness  of  this  world  of  human  beings, 
or  the  anticipation  of  the  greater  vastness  of 
that  other  world  beyond,  which  haunted  the 
imaginations  and  thoughts  of  the  pious  Cath- 
olics of  that  region." 

These  few  lines  serve  to  give  a  most  truthful 
word-picture  of  Galway  Bay;  and  also  a 
glimpse  of  the  brilliancy  with  which  Mr. 
O'Connor  writes.  Continuing,  Mr.  O'Connor 
writes  of  his  school-days  in  Ireland  thus,  in 
words  which  give  a  far  more  sympathetic  and 
clear  knowledge  of  things  as  they  are  —  or 
were  —  than  most  reminiscences  of  a  like  na- 
ture: 

"  There  had  come  to  my  native  town  of 


152 


Romantic  Ireland 


Athlone  a  new  school,  and  it  was  but  natural 
that  my  father  should  like  me  to  go  there,  and, 
accordingly,  I  had  no  more  of  Galway  —  ex- 
cept at  vacation-time  —  for  five  long  years. 

"  These  years  belong  to  my  native  town 
and  the  school  near  it;  and  they  were  among 
the  most  unhappy  years  of  my  life. 

"  I  remember  still  the  bitter  flood  of  tears 
I  wept  the  first  day  after  I  returned  to  Athlone 
from  the  year  or  so  I  had  spent  in  Galway. 

"  But  Galway  had  to  me,  then,  many  of  the 
chief  charms  of  boyhood.  There  was  a  second 
house  behind  that  in  which  we  lived,  which 
was  usually  unoccupied.  From  its  roof  you 
could  see  one  of  those  beautiful  scenes  that, 
once  seen,  haunt  one  ever  afterward.  Beyond 
the  town  you  could  catch  sight  of  the  sea; 
and  there,  on  certain  evenings,  you  saw  the 
fleet  of  herring-boats  as  they  went  out  for 
their  night-watch  and  night  harvest  of  fish, 
—  a  sight  that  Was  more  like  something  of 
fairy-land  than  of  reality,  though  I  dare  say  the 
poor  crews  found  much  grimmer  reality  than 
romance  in  their  hard  and  laborious  night- 
watches/' 

Just  off  the  mouth  of  Galway  Bay  are  the 


Gal  way  and  Its  Bay  153 


Aran  Islands.  Between  them  and  the  main- 
land the  sea  is  often  so  rough  as  to  make  it 
impossible  for  small  boats  to  undertake  the 
crossing.  The  principal  food  of  the  inhab- 
itants is  dried  fish,  naturally  a  home  product. 

The  chief  patron  saint  of  Munster,  aside 
from  St.  Finbarr's  association  with  Cork,  was 
St.  Albeus.  He  had  already  been  converted 
by  certain  Christianized  Britons,  and  had  trav- 
elled to  Rome  before  the  arrival  of  St.  Patrick 
among  the  Irish.  After  his  return,  he  became 
the  disciple  and  fellow  labourer  of  that  great 
apostle,  and  was  ordained  by  him  as  first 
Archbishop  of  Munster,  with  his  see  fixed  at 
Emely,  long  since  removed  to  Cashel. 

He  possessed,  according  to  the  chroniclers, 
the  wonderful  art  of  making  men,  not  only 
Christians,  but  saints,  and  for  this  great  abil- 
ity King  Engus  bestowed  upon  him  the  isles 
of  Aran  in  Connaught,  where  he  founded  a 
great  monastery. 

So  famous  did  the  island  become  for  the 
sanctity  of  its  people  that  it  was  long  called 
"  Aran  of  Saints." 

The  rule  which  St.  Albeus  drew  up  for  them 
is  still  extant  in  the  old  Irish  manuscripts. 


*54 


Romantic  Ireland 


Though  zeal  for  the  divine  honour  and  charity 
for  the  souls  of  others  fixed  him  in  the  world, 
he  was  always  careful,  by  habitual  recollec- 
tion and  frequent  retreats,  to  nourish  in  his 
own  soul  the  pure  love  of  heavenly  things, 
and  to  live  always  in  a  very  familiar  and  in- 
timate acquaintance  with  himself  and  in  the 
daily  habitual  practice  of  the  most  perfect 
virtues.  In  his  old  age,  it  was  his  earnest 
desire  to  commit  to  others  the  care  of  his  dear 
flock,  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  prepare 
himself  in  the  exercise  of  holy  solitude  for 
his  great  change.  For  this  purpose,  he  begged 
that  he  might  be  suffered  to  retire  to  Thule, 
the  remotest  country  toward  the  northern  pole 
that  was  known  to  the  ancients,  which  seems 
to  have  been  Shetland,  or,  according  to  some, 
Iceland  or  some  part  of  Greenland;  but  the 
king  guarded  the  ports  to  prevent  his  flight, 
and  the  saint  died  amidst  the  labours  of  his 
charge  in  525,  according  to  the  Ulster  and 
Innisfallen  annals. 

These  islands  are  three  in  number:  Inish- 
more,  Imishmaan,  and  Inisheer,  and  contain 
among  them  such  a  wealth  of  pagan  and 
Christian  antiquities  as  is  excelled  by  no  lo- 


Galway  and  Its  Bay  157 


cality  in  Ireland  of  the  same  area:  perhaps 
fifteen  square  miles  in  all. 

There  is  a  work  published  in  Dublin,  known 
as  "  The  Illustrated  Programme  of  the  So- 
ciety of  Architects/'  which  contains  a  brief 
account  of  the  wealth  of  the  architectural  and 
historical  lore  of  these  parts.  More  one  could 
not  wish  to  know  unless  he  were  profoundly 
interested,  and  less  would  not  even  satisfy 
him  if  he  became  at  all  enamoured  of  these 
islands,  so  full  of  dreary  old  places  and  quaint 
customs,  to  say  nothing  of  the  wealth  of  tra- 
dition and  legend  which  hangs  about  it  all. 

Westward,  the  nearest  land  is  America, 
where  so  many  stalwart  sons  of  Galway  — 
and  daughters,  too  —  have  migrated.  Here 
the  peasants  still  reverently  believe  in  the  far- 
famed  land  of  Hy  or  O,  —  Brazil,  the  para- 
dise of  the  ancient  pagan  Irish. 

The  praises  of  the  "  great  fictitious  island  " 
were  sung  by  the  bards  of  olden  time,  and 
tradition  has  perpetuated  its  fame  as  a  "  land 
of  perpetual  sunshine,  abounding  in  rivers, 
forests,  mountains,  and  lakes.  Castles  and 
palaces  arise  on  every  side,  and,  as  far  as  the 
eye  can  reach,  it  is  covered  with  groves,  bow- 


Romantic  Ireland 


ers,  and  silent  glades ;  its  fields  are  ever  green, 
with  sleek  cattle  grazing  upon  them ;  its  groves 
filled  with  myriads  of  birds.  It  is  only  seen 
occasionally,  owing  to  the  long  enchantment, 
which  will,  they  say,  now  soon  be  dissolved. 
The  inhabitants  seem  always  young,  taking 
no  heed  of  time,  and  lead  lives  of  perfect  hap- 
piness. In  many  respects  this  fabulous  land 
resembles  the  Tirna-n'oge,  the  pagan  Irish 
Elysium." 

Among  the  chief  —  and  assuredly  unique  — 
reliques  of  these  few  square  miles  of  terra 
Urma  are  the  ruins  of  the  old  fortified  Castle 
of  Ardkyne,  in  which  are  built  the  remains 
of  the  great  church  of  St.  Enna,  chief  of  the 
Oriels,  who,  upon  his  conversion,  abandoned 
his  secular  rule,  and  eventually  settled  (not 
later  than  a.  d.  489)  in  Aran,  which  hence- 
forth became  Ara-na-noamh,  "  Aran  of  the 
Saints."  The  church  was  one  of  several 
destroyed  by  the  soldiers  of  Cromwell;  but 
its  plan,  about  twenty  by  ten  feet,  can  be 
traced  behind  the  village.  Above  the  village 
is  the  stump  of  a  round  tower,  and,  on  the 
ridge,  the  oratory  of  St.  Benen,  a  unique  speci- 
men of  early  Irish  church  architecture,  which 


Galway  and  Its  Bay  159 


has  remarkably  steep  pitched  gables.  The 
window  in  the  east  wall  has  its  head  and  splay 
of  a  single  stone.  The  narrow  north  doorway 
has  inclined  jambs.  If  the  name  refers  to 
the  apostle  of  Connaught,  St.  Benen  of  Ar- 
magh, it  must  be  a  dedication,  as  he  died  in 
468.  The  building  may  with  confidence  be 
assigned  to  the  sixth  century. 

St.  Edna's  burial-place,  known  as  TeglocH 
Edna,  is  another  curious  premediaeval  church. 

On  the  Aran  Islands  there  are  jio  bogs,  but 
one  has,  instead,  to  dodge  his  footsteps  in 
and  out  among  pebbles  and  rolling  stones  of 
every  size  and  shape.  This  is  particularly  so 
if  one  is  to  make  the  journey  to  Dun  iEngus, 
one  of  the  finest  prehistoric  forts  of  Western 
Europe;  called,  indeed,  by  Dr.  Hindes  Petrie, 
"  The  most  magnificent  barbaric  monument 
now  extant  in  Europe." 

It  is,  undoubtedly,  the  most  noteworthy  ob- 
ject in  Ara^n.  It  consisted  originally  of  a 
triple  line  of  works,  but  the  two  inner  lines, 
of  horseshoe  shape  on  the  verge  of  a  bold 
headland,  are  those  best  preserved.  Tradition 
assigns  it  to  ^Engus,  a  Firbolg  chief  who  lived 
about  two  thousand  years  ago.    The  chevaux- 


160  Romantic  Ireland 

de-frise  defending  the  second  line  is  unmistak- 
able, and  the  whole  is  as  majestic  in  its  grand- 
eur as  its  supposed  antiquity  might  indicate. 

Temple  MacDuagh,  near  Kilmurvy,  is  a 
"  cyclopean  "  church  of  the  seventh  century, 
and  Dun  Oghil  is  a  grand  fort  consisting  of 
a  circular  cashel,  within  a  second,  which  is 
roughly  square. 

These  are  the  chief  features  of  the  great 
island,  with  the  Temple  Brecan,  which  has 
a  chancel  of  rude  ancient  masonry,  a  choir 
which  more  nearly  approaches  our  own  time 
by  four  or  five  hundred  years  and  is  still  mod- 
ern, and  a  sacred  enclosure  devoted  to  the 
burial  of  saints,  of  which  the  Irish  calendar 
seems  quite  full. 

On  Inisheer  are  the  remains  of  an  ancient 
place  of  worship  dedicated  to  St.  Cavan, 
brother  to  St.  Kevin,  the  legend  of  whose  life 
everywhere  confronts  one  in  County  Wicklow. 
There  is  another  to  St.  Gobnet,  abbess  of  the 
sixth  century. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


ACHILL  TO  SLIGO 

IT  has  been  suggested  before  now  that  the 
domain  of  Achill  Island,  off  the  coast  of 
Mayo,  that  wonderland  of  natural  unspoiled 
grandeur,  be  preserved  as  a  sort  of  national 
park. 

Its  primitive  beauties  are  impressively  great 
without  rising  to  splendour  or  magnificence. 

Said  Sir  Harry  Johnston,  in  writing  to  the 
London  Times: 

"  Is  it  impossible  that  individuals  and  the 
State  together  should  intervene  before  it  is 
too  late  and  save  Achill  Island  as  a  national 
park,  as  a  paradise  in  which  the  last  aspects 
of  the  indigenous  British  fauna  may  be  ex- 
hibited? This  might  be  done  without  dis- 
turbing the  indigenous  population,  who  could 
still  carry  on  their  fishing  industry  and  the 
161 


1 62  Romantic  Ireland 


amount  of  agriculture  necessary  to  their  sub- 
sistence, without  interfering  unduly  with  the 
wild  birds  and  beasts  of  the  island.  There 
would  be,  of  course,  an  absolute  interdict 
against  '  sportsmen  '  and  gunners ;  it  would 
no  longer  be  permissible  to  shoot  the  seals 
that  haunt  the  caves  and  rocks  around  Achill, 
while  the  deer,  wild  goats,  foxes,  eagles,  ra- 
vens, swans,  gulls,  choughs,  and  other  wild 
birds  and  beasts  would  be  similarly  protected. 
People  would  then  visit  Achill  Island  at  all 
seasons  of  the  year  (the  climate  is  remarkably 
mild  in  winter)  for  the  pleasure  and  interest 
afforded  by  the  contemplation  of  its  wild 
fauna.  We  should,  in  short,  have  an  object- 
lesson  of  what  Ireland  and  most  other  parts 
of  the  British  Isles  were  like  under  prehistoric 
conditions/' 

From  this  it  will  be  inferred  that  there  is 
every  encouragement  for  such  a  procedure, 
did  the  powers  but  take  their  rightful  initia- 
tive. 

Whether  such  an  event,  if  it  come  to  pass, 
would  make  for  a  greater  admiration  of  this 
lone  and  sea-girt  bit  of  terra  firnta,  it  remains 
for  others  than  the  writer  of  this  book  to 


Achill  to  Sligo 


prognosticate.  Certainly,  under  any  aspect 
except  that  of  the  erection  of  multitudinous 
"  resort  hotels  "  and  "  furnished  bungalows," 
Achill  Island  is  a  wonderful  resort  for  those 
in  need  of  soothing  influences;  and,  for  its 
natural  and  unspoiled  charms  alone,  should 
be  kept  quite  as  it  now  is. 

Achill  is  a  veritable  unknown  wonderland. 
Not  that  it  is  actually  unexplored,  that  it  is 
vast,  or  that  it  is  inaccessible.  It  is  none 
of  these;  but  few  foreigners,  or  "aliens,"  as 
the  Irish  prefer  to  think  of  strangers,  have 
ever  visited  this  little-known  corner  of  Ireland, 
or  even  know  where  it  is.  Achill  Island  is  the 
largest  island  on  the  Irish  coast,  in  shape  not 
unlike  an  irregular  triangle,  and  contains  an 
area  of  fifty-five  square  miles.  To  the  north 
is  the  deeply  indented  Black  Sod  Bay,  with 
its  myriad  smaller  bays,  while  to  the  south  is 
Clew  Bay,  populated  with  numerous  tiny 
islets,  and  the  high-held  head  of  Croagh  Pat- 
rick. Off  to  the  northwest  are  the  "  Enchanted 
Isles,"  the  legendary  homes  of  saints  and  re- 
cluses, among  them  Inishglora,  Inishkeenah, 
and  Inishkea. 

On  one  of  these  it  is  fondly  believed  by  the 


i66 


Romantic  Ireland 


natives  that  Ossian  resided.  Tradition  has 
preserved  the  record  thus: 

"  Ossine  MacFoin,  seated  on  the  banks  of  the 
Shannon,  adoring  the  Author  of  Nature  in 
the  contemplation  of  his  works,  was  suddenly 
hurried  away  to  Tirna-n'oge  (the  country  of 
youth,  or  island  of  immortals),  which  he  de- 
scribes with  all  the  vivacity  that  fancy,  aided 
by  the  sight  of  so  lovely  a  country  as  Ireland, 
could  assist  the  bard  with.  He  remained  here 
for  some  days  he  thought,  and,  on  his  return, 
was  greatly  surprised  to  find  no  vestige  of  his 
house  or  of  his  acquaintance.  In  vain  did  he 
seek  after  his  father  Fion,  and  his  Fonne 
Eirion;  in  vain  sounds  the  buabhal,  or  well- 
known  military  clarion,  to  collect  those  in- 
trepid warriors.  Long  since  had  these  heroes 
been  cut  off  in  battle;  long  had  his  father 
ceased  to  live!  Instead  of  a  gallant  race  of 
mortals  which  he  had  left  behind,  he  found  a 
puny  and  degenerate  people,  scarce  speaking 
the  same  language.  In  a  word,  it  appeared 
that,  instead  of  two  days,  he  had  remained 
near  two  centuries  in  this  mansion  of  the 
blessed."  (O'Halloran.) 

Achill  itself  contains  scarcely  a  tree  worthy 


Achill  to  Sligo 


the  dignity  of  the  name;  but  heath,  gorse, 
juniper,  and  coarse  grasses  abound. 

Sleivemore  has  a  height  of  2,204  fee*  and 
Croghan  2,192.  Both  rise  abruptly  from  the 
sea,  after  the  manner  of  the  castellated  peaks 
in  the  fairy  books,  which,  with  their  compo- 
nent castles,  mostly  do  not  exist  out  of  books. 

Kildavnet  Castle  on  Achill  Sound  was  one 
of  the  numerous  retreats  of  Grace  O'Malley. 
Its  square  keep  still  stands.  The  arm  of  the 
sea  on  which  it  was  built  was  so  deep  that 
vessels  rode  at  low  water  under  the  very  walls 
of  the  castle.  "  Here/'  tradition  states,  "  the 
skull  of  Grace  O'Malley  was  formerly  pre- 
served, and  valued  as  a  precious  relic.  One 
night,  however,  —  so  the  legend  goes,  — 
the  bones  of  the  famous  sea-queen  were 
stolen  from  their  resting-place,  and  conveyed, 
with  those  of  thousands  of  her  descendants, 
into  Scotland,  to  be  ground  into  fertilizer. 
The  theft  was  of  course  perpetrated  in  secret, 
and  in  the  night-time.  If  the  crew  had  been 
seized  by  the  peasantry,  with  their  singular 
cargo,  not  a  man  of  them  would  have  lived  to 
tell  the  tale,  for  the  Irish  regard  with  peculiar 
horror  any  desecration  of  the  graveyard." 


i68 


Romantic  Ireland 


According  to  a  recent  census,  the  popula- 
tion of  Achill  and  Achill-beg,  the  baby  islet 
off  the  southern  limb  of  its  parent,  has  de- 
creased nearly  ten  per  cent,  in  the  space  of 
ten  years ;  from  which  fact  it  may  be  inferred 
that  the  popularity  of  this  salubrious  spot  — 
for  it  ranks  high  among  the.  world's  great 
natural  sanatoria  —  is  not  increasing  with  the 
rapidity  that  might  be  expected. 

The  two  villages  of  the  larger  island,  Keel 
and  Dooagh,  seem  populous  enough,  as  is  also 
the  Protestant  community  of  Dugort.  The 
island,  in  general,  is  exceedingly  unproductive, 
though  the  sea  yields  a  wonderful  harvest  to 
the  fisher  folk. 

There  is  but  a  narrow  margin  between  the 
well-being  and  distress  of  the  inhabitants,  but 
signs  are  not  wanting  that  whatever,  in  ex- 
ceptional periods,  may  have  been  their  condi- 
tion, at  present  they  are  relatively  better  off 
than  many  of  their  compatriots  in  the  west 
of  Ireland.  Considerable  numbers  annually 
migrate  to  the  north  of  England  and  the  south 
of  Scotland  for  the  harvest,  just  as,  with  the 
same  motive,  the  "  East-Enders  "  of  London 
throng  to  the  hop-fields  of  Kent,  and  the  will- 


Achill  to  Sligo 


169 


ing  and  industrious  Bretons  cross  the  Chan- 
nel, in  the  autumn,  to  the  hay-fields  of  Eng- 
land's "  home  counties." 

Off  the  western  Irish  coast,  from  Connemara 
and  Mayo,  there  are  yet  to  be  found  remote 
islands  with  an  exceedingly  primitive  civiliza- 
tion. Achill  owes  much  of  its  interest  to  the 
fact  that  it  exhibits  a  similar  state  of  things, 
in  many  points  little  altered  by  contact  with 
the  mainland.  The  people,  the  cabins  they 
inhabit,  and  their  manner  of  life  show  very 
little  change,  in  spite  of  the  introduction  of 
a  good  many  articles  of  manufacture  which 
a  generation  or  two  ago  were  quite  unheard 
of.  One  thing  which  cannot  fail  to  be  noticed 
will  be  the  queer  little  "  public  houses."  The 
tenement  itself,  however  aboriginal,  is  sure 
to  contain  an  assortment  of  strong  drinks  as 
varied  as  the  average  West  End  bar.  The  qual- 
ity may  be  dubious,  but  there  will  be  no  ques- 
tion as  to  the  strength  and  specific  gravity 
of  the  spirit,  particularly  the  eau-de-vie,  or  the 
"  mountain  dew." 

Of  the  charms  of  Dugort,  the  "  Settlement," 
and  Dugort  proper,  the  poet-laureate,  in  the 


170  Romantic  Ireland 

pages  of  "  Maga,"  has  written  eulogistically. 
He  says: 

"  A  more  perfect  place  of  holiday  resort 
it  would  not  be  possible  to  imagine.  There 
are  fine  yellow  sands,  where  children  may 
make  dykes,  fortresses,  and  mountains  of  mod- 
erate height.  .  .  .  There  is  fishing,  either  in 
smooth  or  rolling  water,  for  those  who  love  the 
indolent  rocking  or  the  rough  rise  and  fall  of 
the  sea;  precipitous  and  fretted  cliffs,  carved 
with  the  likeness  of  some  time-eaten  Gothic 
fane  by  the  architecteonic  ocean ;  rides,  drives, 
and  walks  amid  the  finest  scenery  of  the  king- 
dom. '  I  think  she  prefers  Brighton,'  said  a 
stranger  to  me  of  his  companion ;  and,  if  one 
prefers  Brighton,  one  knows  where  to  go. 
But  if  nature,  now  majestically  serene,  now 
fierce  and  passionate,  be  more  to  you  than 
bicyclettes  and  German  bands,  you  can  no- 
where be  better  than  at  Achill." 

The  Settlement,  or  modern  Dugort,  is  a 
group  of  cabins  above  the  shore,  which  owed 
its  creation  to  the  Rev.  Edward  Nangle,  a 
clergyman  of  the  Established  Church.  In  1831 
he  visited  Achill,  and  was  so  impressed  with 
what  he  deemed  the  "  spiritual  destitution " 


CATHEDRAL   CAVES,  ACHILL. 


Achill  to  Sligo 


173 


of  the  islanders  that  he  organized  a  mission. 
Some  seventy  acres  of  land  having  been 
bought,  two  or  three  cottages  were  erected  in 
1833,  and  in  the  following  year  Mr.  Nangle 
settled  at  what  is  now  the  bright  little  village 
of  modern  Dugort.  Whatever  opinion  may 
be  held  as  to  the  value  or  wisdom  of  his 
undertaking,  Catholic  and  Protestant  alike, 
now  that  the  dust  of  the  battle  has  settled, 
will  agree  that  Mr.  Nangle  had  in  him  the 
stuff  that  heroes  are  made  of.  His  immediate 
oversight  was  withdrawn  about  1852,  though 
for  the  rest  of  his  life  he  took  an  active  share 
in  promoting  the  continuance  of  his  work. 
He  died  in  1883,  in  his  eighty-fourth  year, 
but  long  before  that  time  the  "  mission  "  had 
ceased  to  be  a  cause  of  dispute,  and  now 
Dugort  is  merely  a  small  Protestant  preserve 
in  a  Catholic  district. 

Just  south  of  Achill,  in  Clew  Bay,  is  Clare 
Island,  which  has  been  likened  to  the  pirate 
islands  of  the  transformation  scenes  of  the 
theatre.  Certainly  the  description  is  a  good 
one,  as  it  is  a  spot  typically  suitable  in  shape 
and  outline  for  hidden  treasures,  shipwrecks, 
and  blood-letting  galore.    Its  outline  is  bold 


174  Romantic  Ireland 


and  jagged,  and  it  sits  ensconced  in  a  basin 
of  blue  water,  which,  in  the  twilight,  is  lit 
up  by  the  western  sun  in  a  manner  like  noth- 
ing else  so  much  as  that  of  the  theatre. 

It  was  perhaps  merely  an  odd  fancy — though 
a  likely  enough  one — that  is  responsible  for  the 
simile;  but  it  is  pertinent  to  remark  that  this 
tiny  emerald,  set  in  a  sea  of  sapphire,  was 
really  one  of  the  many  haunts  of  Grace  O'Mal- 
ley,  the  famous  chieftainess  and  warring  ama- 
zon  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Here  she  ac- 
tually did  live,  hoarded  her  arms  and  muni- 
tions, concealed  her  treasures,  and  imprisoned 
her  captives,  hence  it  is  with  reason  that 
the  description  lives  to-day.  One  commends 
the  perspicacity  of  Grace  O'Malley,  or  Grania 
Uaile,  as  she  is  sometimes  called,  in  having 
selected  such  a  beautiful  spot  for  her  strong- 
hold, sheltered  on  one  side  by  the  purple  hills 
of  Connemara,  and  on  the  other  guarded  by 
the  open  sea. 

Next  to  the  headlands  of  Kerry,  Connemara 
is  the  westernmost  part  of  Ireland.  Its  iden- 
tity is  now  lost  in  that  of  County  Galway,  but 
it  is  still  known  to  travellers  as  "  wild  Conne- 
mara."   Not  that  it  is  entirely  unpeopled,  or 


Achill  to  Sligo  177 


that  there  is  any  special  hardship  involved  in 
traversing  its  area;  the  hotels  are  more  nu- 
merous than  ever,  and  it  is  an  open  question 
if  the  accommodation  offered  at  Recess,  Clif- 
den,  Westport,  and  many  other  of  the  purely 
tourist  points  is  not  the  equal  of  any  in  Ire- 
land. They  have  not  the  electric  light  in  many 
instances,  and  often  not  water  "  laid  on,"  but 
the  genuine  traveller  will  not  care  for  this 
if  he  can  but  be  sure  of  his  bed  and  board. 
To  feel  sure  of  the  former,  however,  it  will 
be  necessary  for  him  to  bespeak  it  in  advance 
if  he  travels  here  in  the  season. 

In  Connemara  there  is  no  great  wealth  of 
historical  or  archaeological  memorials.  In 
fact,  there  is  a  scarcity  of  both,  and  one  has 
to  take  his  fill  of  the  wild,  natural  beauties 
of  the  rock-bound  coast  scenery,  the  bracing 
atmosphere,  and  the  wholly  unspoiled  charm 
of  the  place,  which,  in  spite  of  the  advent  of 
the  great  hotels  before  mentioned,  has  not  yet 
become  travel-worn. 

Lough  Carib,  which  is  possessed  (at  Ough- 
terard)  of  a  fine  ruined  castle,  just  north  of 
Galway,  is  the  largest  of  the  score  of  purple, 
deep-looking  lakes  with  which  the  western 


i78 


Romantic  Ireland 


part  of  the  county  is  dotted.  The  scenery  of 
lake  and  sea,  of  bracken-clad  hills  and  plains, 
and  of  great  sombre,  gloomy  mountains  makes 
up  an  ensemble  of  surpassing  beauty.  The 
centres  of  populaticin  are  few,  far  between,  and 
of  minute  dimensions. 

The  railway  line  from  Galway  ends  at  Clif- 
den,  a  town  so  unimportant  and  quiet  that, 
in  itself,  it  does  not  warrant  remark.  It  was 
founded  in  the  reign  of  George  IV.,  and  this 
early  foundation  consisted  of  but  a  single 
house,  though  it  is  the  gateway  to  the  wonder- 
ful coast  scenery  of  the  region  to  the  north- 
ward, not  actually  in  Connemara,  but  what 
is  known  as  "  Joyce's  Country." 

Of  all  the  landlocked  bays  of  this  region, 
none  equals  Killary  Harbour,  which  is  simply 
the  elongated  estuary  of  the  tiny  river  Eriff. 

The  hamlet  of  Leenane  is  the  metropolis  of 
these  parts,  and  is  so  very  small  and  unim- 
portant that  it  would  hardly  be  remarked,  ex- 
cept for  the  fact  that  no  other  of  even  the 
same  rank  lies  within  a  radius  of  twenty  miles. 
The  situation  of  Leenane  is  charming,  at  the 
head  of  Great  Killary.  Around  about  are  hills 
of  mountainous  pretentions,  and  before  its 


Achill  to  Sligo 


181 


doors  is  a  fiord,  as  ample  and  as  calm  as  many, 
of  more  fame,  to  be  found  in  Norway.  Sea- 
ward, the  great  hills  come  down  to  the  water's 
edge  and  almost  join  hands  across  the  nar- 
row mouth  of  the  estuary,  forming  a  sheltered 
and  landlocked  haven  of  so  great  a  depth  as 
to  allow  anchorage  for  even  a  great  battle-ship. 

Between  Galway  and  Clifden  is  Recess,  a 
point  of  vantage  from  which  to  visit  much 
that  is  characteristic  of  the  scenery  of  Conne- 
mara.  Firstly,  the  region  is  of  interest  to  the 
fisherman;  secondly,  the  geologist;  and, 
thirdly,  to  all  lovers  of  nature,  which,  judging 
from  the  recent  popularity  of  "  nature  books," 
is  perhaps  much  the  largest  class. 

The  chief  topographical  feature,  which 
forms  the  background  to  Recess,  is  the  moun- 
tain range  of  the  "  Twelve  Bens,"  a  glorious 
group  of  dark-mantled  mountains  with  stony 
peaks  and  flinty-quartz  hearts. 

One  may  tramp  Connemara  for  weeks,  and 
not  know  all  its  beauty-spots,  or  he  may  scam- 
per around  it  by  coach  and  rail  in  two  days, 
and  depart  thinking  he  has  seen  it  all;  but 
in  either  case,  his  memory,  if  it  be  a  good 
one,  will  sooner  or  later  call  him  to  task  for 


182 


Romantic  Ireland 


his  presumption.  For  this  reason,  it  is  mani- 
festly presumptuous  to  attempt  to  give  its 
proper  rank  to  its  great  wealth  of  natural 
attractions  among  the  various  collections  which 
Ireland  possesses. 

The  scenery  about  Recess  is  a  picturesque 
combination  of  lake  and  river  and  mountain; 
but,  to  the  southward,  there  are  wild  and 
rugged  bits  of  coast  and  red  bracken-covered 
hills,  which  look  to-day  exactly  as  they  did 
in  times  primeval. 

Lough  Glendalough,  which  lies  immediately 
before  Recess,  is  but  the  foreground  of  a  lovely 
picture  which  it  will  take  many  days  to  dis- 
sect and  fully  appreciate. 

There  has  ever  been  a  dispute  as  to  whether 
the  glory  of  the  "  Twelve  Bens  "  really  be- 
longed to  Recess  or  Leenane.  It  certainly 
matters  little,  since  they  are  a  wonderfully 
impressive  background  viewed  from  either 
point. 

It  must  be  a  well-booted  and  strong-limbed 
pedestrian  who  will  essay  the  task  of  ascend- 
ing these  famous  mountains.  Benbaun  is  the 
monarch  of  the  Bens,  and  is  2,395  feet  in 
height.    Not  a  very  great  altitude  as  Conti- 


Achill  to  Sligo 


185 


nental  mountains  go,  but  withal  a  very  re- 
spectable eminence  to  climb. 

North  of  Achill  is  Black  Sod  Bay,  whose 
memory  comes  down  to  us  through  Kipling's 
reminiscence  in  "  A  Fleet  in  Being/'  More 
anciently,  it  was  one  of  the  harbours  where 
a  part  of  the  ill-fated  Armada  was  supposed 
to  have  gone  ashore.  There  are  no  great  cen- 
tres of  population  here  in  the  bleak  northwest 
of  County  Mayo,  and  there  are  no  architectural 
remains  of  note;  but  there  is  local  colour, 
and  much  of  it,  for  one  who  would  study  the 
poor  Irish  peasant  on  his  native  heath. 

Until  one  rounds  the  headland  of  Benwee, 
and  passes  the  "  Stags  of  Broadhaven,"  —  a 
head  of  deep-water  pinnacles  of  rock  whose 
jagged  outlines  have  been  likened  to  a  stag's 
antlers,  —  and  reaches  Killala  Bay,  there  is 
naught  of  twentieth-century  civilization  to 
remind  one  he  is  not  living  in  other  days,  or 
certainly  in  other  lands  and  among  other  asso- 
ciations than  those  which  city  folk  have  come 
to  consider  necessaries. 

Killala  Bay  is  flanked  on  the  west  by  Down- 
patrick  Head,  which  rises  two  thousand  feet 
sheer  above  the  sea-level.   It  is  one  of  Ireland's 


1 86  Romantic  Ireland 


true  wonders,  but  attracts  few,  visitors  save 
migratory  sea-fowl. 

Killala  itself,  one  learns  from  the  "  Life  of 
St.  Patrick,"  is  a  place  of  great  age.  The 
holy  man  himself  — 

"  Came  to  a  pleasant  place  where  the  river 
Muadas  (Moy)  empties  itself  into  the  ocean; 
and  on  the  south  banks  of  said  river  he  built 
a  noble  church  called  Kill  Aladh,  of  which  he 
made  one  of  his  disciples,  Muredach,  the  first 
bishop.'' 

The  present  cathedral  was  entirely  rebuilt 
in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  has  no  archi- 
tectural importance.  Close  by,  on  a  knoll, 
about  which  the  village  is  built,  is  a  round 
tower,  eighty-four  feet  high  and  fifty-one  feet 
in  circumference. 

"  At  Kilcummin,  on  the  west  side  of  Killala 
Bay,  a  body  of  French  troops,  under  General 
Humbert,  landed,  August  22,  1798,  with  the 
object  of  supporting  the  United  Irishmen. 
They  at  once  took  Killala  and  Ballina,  and 
at  Castlebar  the  government  levies  were  in 
such  haste  to  retire  without  fighting  as  to  give 
rise  to  the  nickname,  6  Castlebar  Races.'  " 

Ballina,  at  the  head  of  Killala  Bay,  is  the 


Achill  to  Sligo 


187 


"  tourist  resort  "  of  the  region.  It  is  pleasant 
and  delightful  in  all  of  its  aspects,  and  in  its 
neighbourhood  are  some  very  interesting  ar- 
chitectural remains.  There  are,  as  is  often  the 
case,  a  Roman  Catholic  and  a  Protestant  ca- 
thedral in  the  town,  and  an  Augustinian 
monastery,  a  ruin  of  a  fifteenth-century  struc- 
ture, also  many  attractive  vistas  and  spots 
most  worthy  of  the  brush  and  pencil  of  the 
artist. 

These  attractions  pall  in  the  mind  of  the 
local  spreader  of  publicity,  who  extols  only 
the  size  and  varieties  of  fish  which  may  be 
taken  in  the  river  Moy  and  other  near-by 
waters. 

From  Ballina  one  reaches  Sligo  in  five  and 
a  half  hours  by  means  of  that  still  prevalent 
institution,  the  genuine  Irish  "  low-backed 
car." 

Somewhere  in  the  county  of  Sligo  is  the 
"  Valley  of  the  Black  Pig,"  which  is  possessed 
of  a  legend  which  recounts  how,  for  genera- 
tions, the  Irish  peasantry  have  comforted 
themselves  in  adversity  by  the  memory  of  a 
great  battle  fought  here  in  this  valley. 

W.  B.  Yeats  tells  how,  a  few  years  ago,  in 


i88 


Romantic  Ireland 


the  barony  of  Lisadell  in  Sligo,  a  peasant 
would  fall  to  the  ground  in  a  trance  as  it  were, 
and  rave  out  a  description  of  the  bloody  battle 
which  once  took  place. 

This  shows,  at  least,  that  tradition  and 
legend  alike  die  hard  in  the  minds  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  when  Mr.  Yeats  tells  us  that  men 
have  told  him  that  they  have  seen  the  girths 
instantaneously  rot  and  fall  from  horses;  and 
that  few,  if  any,  who  enter  the  Black  Valley 
ever  come  out  alive,  we  realize  fully  how 
close  we  are,  even  in  these  times,  to  the  age 
of  superstition  in  Ireland. 

Mr.  Yeats  furthermore  eulogized  the  inci- 
dent in  verse. 

"  The  dew  drops  slowly ;  the  dreams  gather ;  unknown 
spears 

Suddenly  hurtle  before  my  dream-awakened  eyes ; 
And  then  the  clash  of  fallen  horsemen,  and  the  cries 
Of  unknown  perishing  armies  beat  about  my  ears. 
We,  who  are  labouring  by  the  cromlech  on  the  shore, 
The  gray  cairn  on  the  hill,  when  day  sinks  drowned  in 
dew, 

Being  weary  of  the  world's  empires,  bow  down  to 
you, 

Master  of  the  still  stars,  and  of  the  flaming  door." 


Achill  to  Sligo 


Sligo  itself,  with  its  ten  thousand  souls  and 
its  important  and  matter-of-fact  seafaring 
trades,  is  a  centre  for  journeying  afoot  or 
awheel  amid  many  charming  scenes  of  lough 
and  lake  and  sea  and  shore. 

Southward  is  Carrick  on  Shannon,  the 
gateway  to  the  Shannon's  lakes  and  rivers; 
northward  is  the  Bay  of  Donegal,  backed  by 
its  famous  rugged  "  Highlands ;  "  and,  east- 
ward, is  Lough  Erne,  which,  with  its  upper 
and  lower  lakes  and  the  river  Erne  trickling 
minutely  southward,  is  quite  the  rival  of  the 
long-drawn-out  Shannon,  or  would  be  if  the 
tide  of  popular  fancy  ever  turned  that  way. 
Enniskillen  is  the  metropolis  of  Lough  Erne. 
Locally  it  is  known  as  the  Island  City  by  rea- 
son of  its  being  apparently  surrounded  by  the 
all-enfolding  waters  of  the  upper  and  lower 
lakes.  Its  fame  lies  principally  in  its  entranc- 
ing situation,  and  the  memory  of  its  various 
regiments  of  Enniskillen  Dragoons  who  have 
fought  and  won  gloriously  in  many  of  Eng- 
land's "  little  wars,"  and  big  ones,  too,  for 
that  matter.  The  colours  borne  by  the  two 
Enniskillen  regiments  at  Waterloo  are  still 
preserved  in  the  parish  church. 


190  Romantic  Ireland 

Until  the  days  of  James  L,  Enniskillen  was 
no  more  than  a  stronghold  of  the  Maguires, 
but  it  then  gained  much  prominence  through 
the  eventful  part  it  played  in  the  domestic 
struggles  and  troubles  of  the  latter  half  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  Of  the  old  castle,  which 
has  braved  so  many  fights,  only  a  small  por- 
tion remains,  and  is  incorporated  in  the  mod- 
ern military  barracks,  which,  in  one  way,  in- 
dicate the  importance  of  Enniskillen. 

"  The  Falls  of  Erne,"  at  Ballyshannon, 
where  the  river  joins  its  estuary  with  its  rapid, 
tumbling  torrent  falling  over  a  thirty-foot 
wall  of  rock,  indicate  in  no  unmistakable  man- 
ner the  volume  of  water  which  flows  from 
source  to  sea.  At  Ballyshannon,  which  has 
more  than  a  local  renown  among  disciples  of 
Izaak  Walton,  is  the  famous  "  salmon  leap  " 
which,  at  certain  seasons,  provides  a  display  of 
the  wonderful  acrobatic  ability  of  this  gamy 
fish.  But  a  short  three  miles  from  Ballyshan- 
non is  Belleek,  with  its  famous  china  factories 
which  produce  a  peculiarly  lustrous  egg-shell 
ware  much  admired  for  its  simplicity  and 
crudeness  of  form,  but  very  transparent  and 
light.    Here,  too,  are  another  series  of  rapids, 


4  Detail  of  Sligo  Abbey 


t 


Achill  to  Sligo 


!93 


as  great  in  their  way  as  those  farther  down- 
stream. Sir  Joseph  Paxton  called  them  "  the 
most  picturesque  in  the  world,"  but  one  should 
judge  for  himself.  They  are  marvellously  ef- 
fective, however,  for  the  river  falls  nearly  150 
feet  in  three  miles  or  less. 

Sligo  itself,  in  spite  of  its  commercial  im- 
portance, is  not  greatly  appealing  in  its  inter- 
est, if  one  excepts  its  old  abbey,  now  a  ruin, 
but  once  an  exceedingly  ambitious  Dominican 
establishment.  Founded  in  1252,  it  was  des- 
troyed by  a  fire  in  14 14,  though  immediately 
rebuilt.  Its  Gothic  is  of  that  superlative  qual- 
ity known  best  in  the  superb  monkish  erections 
of  the  Continent  of  Europe.  There  are  vari- 
ous monuments  yet  to  be  seen  therein  of  local 
and  historical  interest,  but  the  chief  attraction 
is  what  remains  of  the  beautiful  cloister,  fairly 
perfect  as  to  preservation,  and  surrounding 
three  sides  of  a  rectangle.  There  are  forty- 
six  arches,  each  about  four  feet  and  a  half  in 
height,  all  elaborately  carved,  and  quite  differ- 
ent one  from  another. 

By  an  ancient  and  inalienable  right,  the 
abbey  grounds  are  still  used  as  a  Roman 
Catholic  burial-place. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  DONEGAL  HIGHLANDS 

THE  Bay  of  Donegal,  and  indeed  the 
whole  Donegal  district,  is  mellowed  and 
tempered  by  the  ever-flowing  Gulf  Stream, 
which,  so  the  scientists  say,  were  it  diverted 
by  any  terrestrial  disturbance,  would  give  to 
the  entire  British  Isles  the  temperature  and 
climate  of  Labrador.  As  this  event  is  hardly 
likely  to  take  place,  and  certainly  cannot  be 
foretold,  the  interest  in  the  subject  must  rank 
with  that  which  one  takes  in  the  announce- 
ment of  the  statisticians,  for  instance,  that  an 
express-train  travelling  at  sixty  miles  an  hour 
would  take  millions  of  years  to>  reach  Saturn, 
were  it  once  headed  in  that  direction  and  had 
the  elevating  and  sustaining  qualities  of  an 
air-ship. 

Certainly,   the  mean  temperature  of  the 
194 


The  Donegal  Highlands  195 

whole  south  and  west  coast  of  Ireland  is  mar- 
vellously mild,  and  that  of  Donegal  is  ex- 
ceptionally so. 

The  cliffs  of  Slieve  League,  which  form  a 
jagged,  many-coloured  precipice,  rise  at  a 
sharp  angle  from  the  northern  shore  of  Done- 
gal Bay  to  the  summit  of  the  storm  and  wave- 
riven  mountain,  a  rock  wall  1,972  feet  high. 
It  is  a  grand  and  noble  headland,  as  a  glance 
at  the  map  will  show,  and  is  one  of  the  most 
lofty  elevations  seen  from  Bundoran  and  the 
southern  shores  of  the  bay;  moreover  it  is 
accounted  unique  in  all  the  world,  by  reason 
of  its  marvellous  colouring. 

Bundoran  is  a  bustling,  thriving  place,  but 
of  the  tourist  order  pur  sang,  with  golf-links, 
electric  lights,  and  up-to-date  hotels,  and,  for 
that  reason,  if  for  no  other,  is  a  place  for  the 
genuine  lover  of  the  road  to  avoid. 

Donegal  itself  is  an  improvement.  It  is  a 
small  but  attractively  placed  town  at  the  head 
of  its  own  bay,  and,  in  spite  of  its  being  a 
coast  town,  it  is  more  allied  with  agricultural 
interests  than  with  trade  by  sea. 

The  guide-books  tell  one  little  of  Donegal, 
and  so  much  the  better.    One  enjoys  finding 


196  Romantic  Ireland 


out  things  for  oneself,  and  so  one  has  prac- 
tically a  virgin  field  at  Donegal  unless  he  will 
delve  deep  into  frowsy  historical  works,  such 
as  the  "  Annals  "  of  the  "  Four  Masters  "  of 
the  old  Abbey  of  Donegal.  The  retreat  where 
they  patched  and  pieced  together  this  ancient 
record  is  no  more,  but  it  stood,  "  proud, 
grand,  and  rich  "  upon  the  site  still  marked  by 
some  ruinous  heaps  of  stones. 

Donegal  has  the  usual  accompaniment  of  a 
castle,  but,  in  this  case,  it  is  a  sixteenth-cen- 
tury descendant  of  a  former  stronghold.  It 
is  a  fine  Jacobean  building,  built  up  out  of  the 
remnants  of  its  parent,  and,  with  its  tall  gabled 
towers  and  turrets,  is  in  every  way  a  satis- 
factory example  of  a  mediaeval  baronial  resi- 
dence, though  differing  in  many  essentials 
from  those  common  throughout  Ireland. 

Killybegs,  between  Donegal  and  Slieve 
League,  on  the  north  shore  of  the  bay,  is  one 
of  those  picturesque  coast  villages  on  a  land- 
locked tiny  bay,  of  which  so  many  examples 
exist  in  the  British  Islands.  It  is  no  more  at- 
tractive, nor  any  less  so,  than  others,  but  it 
has  this  distinction  —  a  lengthy  sojourn  there 
will  demonstrate  beyond  all  doubt  that  one 


DONEGAL  CASTLE. 


The  Donegal  Highlands  199 


can  live  far  away  from  a  great  city  and  yet 
never  miss  its  whilom  attractions. 

With  many  other  places  similarly  situated, 
a  run  "  up  to  town  "  is  inevitable  and  neces- 
sary; here,  one  is  apparently  as  completely 
isolated  from  the  distractions  of  the  great 
World  outside  as  if  he  were  marooned  on  a 
desert  isle,  with  the  advantage,  however,  of 
being  able  to  get  away  at  once  by  means  of 
what,  to  all  appearances,  is  a  toy  railway  run- 
ning to  Donegal. 

Carrick  is  another  village  a  little  further  on 
and  similarly  isolated,  —  more  so,  if  anything, 
in  that  the  diminutive  engine  and  its  toy  car- 
riages stop,  in  its  not  rapid  course,  at  Killy- 
begs,  and  one  journeys  onward  by  "  car." 

To  the  southward  are  the  heights  of  Slieve 
League,  Malin  Beg  and  Teelin  Head,  and,  if 
one  will  brave  the  waves  to  the  extent  of 
rounding  these  headlands  by  boat,  he  will  then 
experience  something  of  the  feeling  which  in- 
spired the  following  lines,  which,  if  rather 
pretentious,  are  in  no  way  fulsome : 

"  Once  seen  in  morning  sunshine,  the  view 
of  the  southern  face  of  Slieve  League,  rising 
steeply  from  the  sea,  can  never  be  forgotten; 


200 


Romantic  Ireland 


the  impressiveness  and  matchless  colouring  of 
the  rock  defy  description;  its  beauty  must  be 
seen  to  be  believed.  Its  glorious  colours  are 
grouped  in  masses  on  the  mountain's  face: 
stains  of  metal,  green,  amber,  gold,  yellow, 
white,  red,  and  every  variety  of  shade  are  ob- 
served, particularly  when  seen  under  a  bright 
sun,  contrasting  in  a  wonderful  manner  with 
the  dark  blue  waters  beneath." 

Some  one  has  compared  these  variegated 
cliffs  to  the  effects  to  be  seen,  elsewhere,  only 
in  the  Yellowstone  Park  and  the  canyons  of 
Arizona  or  Colorado.  Those  who  know  Bier- 
stadt  or  Moran's  paintings  of  these  wonders 
of  nature,  or,  better  yet,  the  originals  them- 
selves, will  appreciate  the  comparison. 

The  festival  of  St.  Adamnan,  eighth  in  de- 
scent from  the  great  King  Nial  and  from 
Conal,  the  ancestor  of  St.  Columbkille,  is  kept 
with  great  solemnity  in  many  churches  in 
Ireland,  of  which  he  is  titular  patron,  and  in 
the  whole  diocese  of  Raphoe,  in  the  county  of 
Donegal,  of  which  he  was  a  native.  The 
abbatial  church  of  Raphoe  was  changed  into 
a  cathedral  soon  after,  when  St.  Eunan  was 
consecrated  the  first  bishop.    He  originally  en- 


The  Donegal  Highlands  201 

tered  the  monastery  founded  by  St.  Columba, 
and  became  its  fifth  abbot.  In  701  he  was  ap- 
pointed ambassador  to  King  Alfred  of  the 
Northern  Saxons,  to  demand  reparation  for 
the  injuries  committed  upon  Irish  subjects  in 
Neath.  It  was  St.  Adamnan  who  first  prevailed 
upon  the  Church  authorities  in  Ireland  to  cele- 
brate Easter  at  the  true  and  appointed  time. 

When  he  died,  he  left  among  his  effects  a 
treatise  on  the  right  time  of  keeping  Easter, 
which  disposed  his  people  sometime  after  to 
forsake  their  erroneous  computation.  He 
wrote,  too,  the  life  of  St.  Columbkille,  and  also 
certain  canons,  and  a  curious  description  of  the 
Holy  Land  as  that  country  stood  in  his  time. 
This  book  furnished  the  Venerable  Bede  with 
his  principal  memorials. 

In  this  work  on  the  Holy  Land,  St.  Adam- 
nan  mentions  the  tombs  of  St.  Simeon  and  of 
St.  Joseph  at  Jerusalem,  and  many  relics  of  the 
passion  of  Christ,  as  well  as  the  impression  of 
the  feet  of  the  Saviour  on  Mount  Olivet,  cov- 
ered with  a  church  of  a  round  figure,  with  a 
hole  open  on  the  top,  over  the  impression  of 
the  footsteps.  He  also  mentions  grasshoppers 
in  the  deserts  of  the  Jordan,  which  the  com- 


202 


Romantic  Ireland 


mon  people  eat,  boiled  with  oil;  and  a  portion 
of  the  Cross  in  the  Rotunda  Church  in  Con- 
stantinople, which  was  exposed  on  a  golden 
altar  on  the  three  last  days  of  Holy  Week, 
when  the  emperor,  court,  army,  clergy,  and 
others  went  to  the  church  at  different  hours, 
to  kiss  that  sacred  wood. 

Two  landmarks,  known  to  all  travellers  to 
the  Clyde  from  America,  by  way  of  the  north 
of  Ireland,  are  The  Bloody  Foreland  and 
Tory  Island. 

The  guide-books  tell  but  little  concerning 
this  wild  land  of  promontory  and  cliff,  and 
with  some  reason,  too,  for  there  is  little  or  no 
population  there,  except  the  fisherfolk  and  a 
rather  primitive  race  of  agriculturists. 

Donegal  is  assuredly  a  land  of  intermittent 
beauty,  and  the  hill-encircled  loughs  and  the 
verdant  glens  of  Donegal  Bay  give  way  here 
to  a  stern,  relentless  gray  stone  formation, 
with  here  and  there  patches  of  green  and 
purple  which  indicate  nothing  so  much  as  the 
lonesomeness  which  is  inevitable  under  such 
conditions.  But  there  is  an  impressiveness  in 
it  all  which  is  inexplicable,  since  the  scenery, 


< 

w 


c 

Q 
< 
S3 

0 

w 
< 


The  Donegal  Highlands  205 


though  by  no  means  tame,  is  not  of  the  gran- 
deur of  many  other  parts. 

It  is  doubtful  if  Tory  Island  —  which  is 
but  a  mere  name,  even  to  the  few  who  know  it 
at  all  —  will  ever  be  inundated  by  any  large 
flow  of  travel.  If  it  was,  there  would  doubt- 
less be  little  accomjmodation  provided  for  them, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  it  does  not  exist, 
though  the  island  is  possessed  of  a  population 
of  some  hundreds  of  men  and  women  and  chil- 
dren, with  schools  and  a  church  —  in  fact  two, 
which  are  ever  a  point  of  contention  and  ar- 
gument among  their  respective  constituencies. 
It  was  not  long  since  that  the  cleric  in  charge 
of  one  of  these  houses  of  God  nearly  starved, 
because  he  would  not  desert  his  post,  and  "  the 
powers  that  be  "  on  the  mainland  had  evidently 
abandoned  him  to  his  fate,  or  had  forgotten 
him  altogether. 

Between  the  Tory  Island  and  Malin  Head, 
that  other  beacon-light  for  seafarers,  is  the 
great  inlet  or  fiord  of  Lough  Swilly,  meaning 
in  Celtic  "  Lake  of  Shadows/'  which,  though 
quite  as  beautiful  as  Lough  Foyle,  its  neigh- 
bour on  the  east,  is,  for  some  unexplained 
reason,  quite  neglected.    Of  Lough  Foyle,  at 


206 


Romantic  Ireland 


the  head  of  whose  ample  waters  sits  that  city 
familiarly  called  Derry,  —  built  by  certain 
citizens  of  London  in  the  reign  of  James  L,  — 
Sir  Walter  Scott  has  said : 

"  Nothing  can  be  more  favourable  than  this 
specimen  of  Ireland  —  a  beautiful  variety  of 
cultivated  slopes,  intermixed  with  banks  of 
wood;  rocks  skirted  with  a  distant  ridge  of 
healthy  hills,  watered  by  various  brooks;  the 
glens  or  banks  being  in  general  planted  or  cov- 
ered with  copse." 

This  is  not  a  particularly  vivid  statement, 
to  be  sure,  but  it  is  true  and  temperate,  and  far 
more  likely  to  fit  in  with  the  views  of  the  casual 
observer  than  the  rather  florid  word-paint- 
ings of  other  parts  of  Ireland  which  have  been 
offered  by  rhapsodists  of  all  shades  of  opinion. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


LONDONDERRY    AND    THE    GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY 

LONDONDERRY  was  the  original  site 
of  an  abbey  for  the  canons  of  the  Au- 
gustinian  order  founded  by  St.  Columbkille  in 
546.  There  was  also  an  abbey  for  Cistercian 
nuns  founded  in  12 18,  and  a  Dominican  friary 
founded  in  1274,  "  by  request  of  St.  Domi- 
nick,"  as  the  chronicles  put  it,  whatever  sig- 
nificance that  statement  may  have. 

Derry,  as  it  is  commonly  called,  owes  its 
name  to  the  confiscation  of  the  estates  of  the 
O'Neills  in  1609,  most  of  the  lands  being  be- 
stowed on  various  citizens  of  London.  Derry, 
the  ancient  name,  means  "  the  place  of  oaks." 
All  this  part  of  Ulster  was  once  heavily  for- 
ested, but  it  is  now  conspicuously  bare.  Nearly 
160,000  acres  of  the  county  are  still  owned 
by  the  Irish  Society,  while  two  London  liv- 
207 


2o8  Romantic  Ireland 


ery  companies,  the  Skinners'  and  the  Drapers', 
are  also  owners  of  large  holdings. 

Derry  is  usually  described  as  "  a  prettily 
situated  town,  built  upon  a  high  hill."  It  is 
quite  in  keeping  with  the  description,  and  is 
also  a  place  of  much  interest,  as  will  be  found 
upon  a  close  acquaintance,  though  it  is  un- 
questionably a  curious  mixture  of  old  and  new, 
of  foundries,  distilleries,  and  manufactories, 
which,  at  every  turn,  are  contrasted  with  a 
celebrity  and  an  interest  quite  of  the  past. 

Londonderry  was  formerly  fortified,  con- 
trary to  the  usual  Irish  conception  of  military 
science  and  architecture,  which  favoured  the 
method  advanced  in  the  Spartan  proverb, 
"  The  city  is  best  environed  which  has  walls 
of  men  instead  of  brick." 

There  were  originally  four  gates  (afterward 
six)  piercing  the  city  walls,  Bishops  Gate, 
Ships  Quay  Gate,  New  Gate,  and  Ferry  Gate. 

The  Cathedral  of  Derry  is  a  plain  Gothic 
structure  far  inferior  in  rank  and  splendour  to 
those  of  its  class  in  other  lands,  and  dates  only 
from  the  early  seventeenth  century.  The  epis- 
copal palace  occupies  the  site  of  St.  Columb- 
kille's  abbey. 


Londonderry  and  Giant's  Causeway  211 

The  chief  event  in  Derry's  history,  and  one 
which  is  called  to  the  visitor's  attention  at 
every  turning-point  and  stopping-place,  was  the 
siege  so  graphically  described  by  Macaulay. 

In  brief,  the  event  took  place  thus : 

"  A  letter  was  sent  to  the  Earl  of  Mount 
Alexander  at  Cumber  in  County  Down  on 
December  3,  1688,  giving  the  information  that 
six  days  later  certain  numbers  throughout  Ire- 
land, in  pursuance  of  an  oath  which  they  had 
taken,  were  to  rise  and  massacre  the  Protes- 
tants, men,  women,  and  children.  This  letter 
furthermore  warned  the  earl  to  take  particu- 
lar care  of  himself,  as  a  captain's  commission 
would  be  the  reward  of  the  man  who  would 
murder  him." 

The  information  reached  Derry  too  late  to 
secure  the  safety  of  the  city.  The  terrified 
Protestants  were  filled  with  doubt  as  to  what 
measures  of  precaution  should  be  taken.  Two 
companies  of  the  Irish  appeared  on  the  oppo- 
site bank  of  the  stream,  and  the  officers  were 
ferried  over  to  make  proposals  for  entering 
the  town,  which  was  nearly  betrayed  into  their 
hands  by  the  treachery  of  the  deputy  mayor, 
who  was  inclined  to  favour  King  James  II. 


212  Romantic  Ireland 


Impatient  for  the  return  of  their  officers,  the 
soldiers  crossed  the  river,  and  came  to  within 
three  hundred  yards  of  the  Ferry  Gate. 

"  The  young  men  of  the  city  observing  this," 
says  Gordon's  "  History  of  Ireland,"  "  about 
eight  or  nine  of  them,  whose  names  deserve 
to  be  preserved  in  letters  of  gold,  viz.,  Henry 
Campsie,  William  Crookshanks,  Robert  Sher- 
rard,  Alexander  Irwin,  James  Steward,  Robert 
Morrison,  Alexander  Coningham,  Samuel 
Hunt,  with  James  Spike,  John  Coningham, 
William  Cairns,  Samuel  Harvey,  and  some 
others  who  soon  joined  them,  ran  to  the  main- 
guard,  seized  the  keys,  after  a  slight  opposi- 
tion, came  to  the  Ferry  Gate,  drew  up  the 
bridge,  and  locked  the  gate  just  as  Lord  An- 
trim's soldiers  had  advanced  within  sixty  yards 
of  it." 

The  siege  lasted  one  hundred  and  five  days, 
during  which  time  the  townspeople  were  re- 
duced to  the  direst  extremities.  "  Reduced," 
writes  the  historian,  "  to  the  extremity  of  dis- 
tress, and  endeavouring  to  support  the  remains 
of  life  by  such  miserable  food  as  the  flesh  of 
dogs  and  vermin,  even  tallow  and  hides,  nor 
able  to  find  more  than  two  days'  provisions  of 


Londonderry  and  Giant's  Causeway  213 

such  substances,  the  garrison  was  still  assured 
by  the  harangues  of  Walker,  in  a  prophetic 
spirit,  that  God  would  relieve  them;  and  men 
reduced  almost  to  shadows  made  desperate 
sallies,  but  were  unable  to  pursue  their  advan- 
tage." The  besiegers  had  thrown  a  boom 
across  the  river  to  prevent  all  navigation,  and 
Kirk,  the  Orange  admiral,  had  already  been 
deterred  by  it  from  attempting  the  relief  of 
the  town.  At  length  two  provision  ships  and 
a  frigate  drew  near  to  the  city.  One  ship 
"  dashed  with  giant  strength  against  the  bar- 
rier, and  grounded,  though  subsequently 
floated  out  into  deep  water." 

Nearly  twenty-five  hundred  citizens  died  of 
famine  or  at  the  hands  of  the  enemy  during 
the  siege. 

Near  Londonderry  is  the  Grianan  of  Ail- 
lach,  upon  wrhich  are  the  remains  of  what  is 
thought  to  have  been  an  ancient  royal  residence 
which,  in  splendour  and  importance,  must  have 
ranked  high  among  the  ancient  palaces  of  the 
Irish  kings. 

By  some,  however,  it  has  been  asserted  that 
this  remarkable  work,  of  which,  to  be  sure, 
only  fragmentary  ruins  remain,  was  a  former 


2 i4  Romantic  Ireland 

temple  dedicated  to  the  worship  of  the  sun.  At 
any  rate,  it  was  evidently  a  splendid  and  im- 
posing structure. 

Its  present  appearance  is  that  of  a  truncated 
cairn  of  extraordinary  dimensions,  which,  on 
closer  inspection,  proves  to  be  a  building  con- 
structed with  every  attention  to  masonic  regu- 
larity, both  in  design  and  workmanship.  A 
circular  wall,  of  considerable  thickness,  en- 
closes an  area  of  eighty-two  feet  in  diameter. 
Judging  from  the  numbers  of  stones  which 
have  fallen  off  on  every  side,  so  as  to  form,  in 
fact,  a  sloping  glacis  of  ten  or  twelve  feet 
broad  all  around  it,  this  wall  must  have  been 
of  considerable  height,  probably  from  ten  to 
twelve  feet;  but  its  thickness  varies,  that  por- 
tion of  it  extending  from  north  to  south,  and 
embracing  the  western  half  of  the  circle,  be- 
ing but  ten  or  eleven  feet,  whereas,  in  the  cor- 
responding, or  eastern  half,  the  thickness  in- 
creases to  sixteen  or  seventeen,  particularly  at 
the  entrance. 

One  of  the  inevitable  illustrations  of  the 
old-time  school  geographies  of  our  youth  was 
a  representation  of  the  "  Giant's  Causeway," 
with  its  queer,  hassocklike,  basaltic  stones, 


Londonderry  and  Giant's  Causeway  215 

built  in  fantastic  forms,  like  the  structures 
children  themselves  are  wont  to  erect  from  their 
building-blocks. 

Next  in  order  come  the  books  of  pictorial 
travel  and  "  table  books "  of  the  "  wonders 
of  the  world/'  where  the  same  picture  appears 
again;  and,  finally,  the  astute  proprietors  of 
ardent  spirit  which  is  distilled  at  Bushmills, 

—  an  ancient  town  of  perhaps  a  thousand  in- 
habitants, between  Portrush,  Coleraine,  and 
the  basalt-bound  coast  of  Northern  Ireland, 

—  have  covered  walls  and  fences  with  quite 
the  most  pleasing  and  alluring  of  all  the  pic- 
torial representations  of  this  unique  rocky 
formation. 

By  these  various  means,  the  aspect  of  "  The 
Giant's  Causeway  "  has  become  familiar  to  all. 
So,  too,  most  people  are  familiar  with  the  chief 
characteristics;  for  which  reason  it  is  useless 
to  repeat  them  in  detail  here. 

It  was  in  the  last  years  of  the  seventeenth 
century  that  this  wonderland  of  nature  first 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  inquisitive,  and 
from  that  time  on  its  peculiarities  have  drawn 
many  thousands  of  visitors  of  all  ranks,  from 
the  mere  pleasure  and  sensation  loving  tourist 


2l6 


Romantic  Ireland 


of  convention  to  the  profound  scientist  and 
antiquarian. 

The  five  and  six-sided  basalt  rocks  are  piled 
perpendicularly  one  upon  the  other,  in  contrast 
to  most  rocky  formations,  which  lie  on  their 
sides,  and  the  varying  heights  of  the  columns 
form  those  significantly  named  groups  known 
as  the  "  Organ  and  Pipes/'  "  Samson's  Ribs," 
and  the  three  "  Causeways,"  the  chief  of  which 
gives  its  name  to  the  group. 

By  those  who  have  delved  into  the  subject, 
armed  with  a  profound  geological  knowledge, 
plummet  and  line,  and  rule  and  level,  we  are 
informed  that  "  There  is  only  one  triangular 
pillar  throughout  the  whole  extent  of  the  three 
Causeways.  It  stands  near  the  east  side  of 
the  Grand  Causeway.  There  are  but  three 
pillars  of  nine  sides;  one  of  them  situated  in 
the  Honeycomb,  and  the  others  not  far  from 
the  triangular  pillar  just  noticed.  The  total 
number  having  four  and  eight  sides  bears  but 
a  small  proportion  to  the  entire  mass  of  pillars, 
of  which  it  may  be  safely  computed  that  ninety- 
nine  out  of  one  hundred  have  either  five,  six, 
or  seven  sides." 

For  a  further  description,  which  shall  be 


Londonderry  and  Giant's  Causeway  219 

brief  and  to  the  point,  we  have  the  remarks  of 
Kohl,  the  antiquarian  who  devoted  so  much 
of  his  energy  to  a  study  of  Ireland's  peculiar 
and  rare  beauties. 

He  says :  "  With  all  the  explanations  that 
can  be  offered  with  respect  to  the  origin  of 
this  phenomena,  so  much  is  left  unexplained 
that  they  answer  very  little  purpose.  On  a 
close  investigation  of  these  wonderful  forma- 
tions, so  many  questions  arise  that  one  scarcely 
ventures  to  utter  them.  With  inquiries  of  this 
nature,  perhaps  not  the  least  gain  is  the  knowl- 
edge of  how  much  lies  beyond  the  limits  of  our 
inquiries,  and  how  many  things  that  lie  so 
plainly  before  our  eyes,  which  we  can  see  and 
handle,  may  yet  be  wrapped  in  unfathomable 
mystery.  We  see  in  the  Giant's  Causeway  the 
most  certain  and  obvious  effects  produced  by 
the  operation  of  active  and  powerful  forces 
which  entirely  escape  our  scrutiny.  We  walk 
over  the  heads  of  some  forty  thousand  col- 
umns (for  this  number  has  been  counted  by 
some  curious  and  leisurely  persons),  all  beau- 
tifully cut  and  polished,  formed  of  such  neat 
pieces,  so  exactly  fitted  to  each  other,  and  so 
cleverly  supported,  that  wre  might  fancy  we 


220 


Romantic  Ireland 


had  before  us  the  work  of  ingenious  human 
artificers;  and  yet  what  we  behold  is  the  re- 
sult of  the  immutable  lawfe  of  nature,  acting 
without  any  apparent  object,  and  by  a  process 
which  must  remain  a  mystery  for  ever  to  our 
understanding.  Even  the  simplest  inquiries  it 
is  often  impossible  to  answer;  such,  for  in- 
stance, as  how  far  these  colonnades  run  out 
beneath  the  sea,  and  how  far  into  the  land, 
which  throws  over  them  a  veil  as  impenetrable 
as  that  of  the  ocean." 

There  are  to  be  found  in  this  group  a  great 
number  of  caves ;  some  of  a  unique  character, 
and  many  more  like  most  other  caves,  present- 
ing no  striking  peculiarity.  Portcoon  Cave  is 
noted  for  its  echo,  and  Dunkerry  Cave  for 
the  fact  that  it  can  only  be  entered  from  the 
sea. 

There  is  a  "  Giant's  Well,"  of  course,  which 
legend  tells  was  but  one  of  the  many  domestic 
arrangements  which  nature  had  provided  for 
the  former  Gargantuan  inhabitants  of  these 
parts,  but  the  chief  of  all  the  attractions  is  the 
Causeway  itself,  which  is  divided  into  three 
tongues,  the  Little,  the  Middle,  and  the  Grand 
Causeways. 


Londonderry  and  Giant's  Causeway  221 

"  The  Giant's  Organ,"  with  its  pipes,  sug- 
gested by  the  basaltic  erections  of  various 
heights,  possesses  perhaps  the  greatest  senti- 
mental interest.  The  guide-books  tell  one  that 
he  should  imagine  some  gigantic  personage 
seated  as  if  before  a  keyboard,  and  ringing 
out  wild  melodies  in  quick  succession.  It  will 
take  an  exceedingly  vivid  imagination  to  call 
up  this  inspiration,  and  one  had  much  better 
accept  the  tale  as  set  forth  in  the  ancient  leg- 
end, and  not  attempt  to  revivify  the  scene  in 
these  advanced  days,  when  the  electric-tram 
from  Bushmills  is  depositing  its  hundreds 
daily  at  the  very  foot  of  the  Causeway. 

There  are  traditions  without  end  which  at- 
tempt to  account  for  this  wonderful  natural 
production  of  the  Causeway  itself,  but  one 
shall  suffice  here.  If  the  reader  wants  more 
he  can  get  them  without  number  and  without 
end  if  he  will  but  listen  to  the  voluble  guides 
of  the  neighbourhood.  The  Giant  Fin  M'Coul 
was  the  champion  of  Ireland,  and  felt  very 
much  aggrieved  at  the  insolent  boasting  of  a 
certain  Caledonian  giant,  who  offered  to  beat 
all  who  came  before  him,  and  even  dared  to 
tell  Fin  that  if  it  weren't  for  the  wetting  of 


222  Romantic  Ireland 


himself,  he  would  swim  over  and  give  him  a 
drubbing.  Fin  at  last  applied  to  the  king,  who, 
not  daring,  perhaps,  to  question  the  doings  of 
such  a  weighty  man,  gave  him  leave  to  con- 
struct a  causeway  right  to  Scotland,  on  which 
the  Scot  walked  over  and  fought  the  Irishman. 
Fin  turned  out  victor,  and  with  an  amount  of 
generosity  quite  becoming  his  Hibernian  de- 
scent, kindly  allowed  his  former  rival  to  marry 
and  settle  in  Ireland,  which  the  Scot  was  not 
loath  to  do,  seeing  that  at  that  time  living  in 
Scotland  was  none  of  the  best,  and  everybody 
knows  that  Ireland  was  always  the  richest 
country  in  the  world.  Since  the  death  of  the 
giants,  the  Causeway,  being  no  longer  wanted, 
has  sunk  under  the  sea,  only  leaving  a  portion 
of  itself  visible  here,  a  little  at  the  island  of 
Rathlin,  and  the  portals  of  the  grand  gate  on 
Staffa  off  the  Scottish  coast. 

This  certainly  seems  an  acceptably  plausible 
legend,  so  far  as  legends  can  meet  those  con- 
ditions. It  is  certainly  a  picturesque  one,  and 
the  great  gateway  of  the  island  of  Staffa  has 
much  if  not  all  the  attributes  of  its  brother 
across  the  sea. 

As  a  whole,  the  Causeways  and  their  attri- 


Londonderry  and  Giant's  Causeway  223 

butes  are  indeed  suggestive  —  as  has  been  said 
before  by  some  discerning  person  —  of  a  scene 
from  Dante's  Inferno.  More  particularly 
they  might  be  likened  to  a  drawing  of  Gus- 
tave  Dore's,  illustrating  that  immortal  poem, 
as  we  have  mostly  drawn  our  conception  of 
what  that  land  was  like  from  his  work,  rather 
than  from  Dante's  descriptions. 

At  all  events,  it  is  a  huge  nightmare  of  scenic 
effect,  although  a  pleasant  one. 

Between  Portrush,  really  the  seaport  of 
Coleraine,  and  the  Giant's  Causeway  is  Dunluce 
Castle,  "  the  most  picturesque  ruin  ever  be- 
held," said  an  enthusiastic  Irishman.  As  the 
Scot  will  tell  you  the  same  of  Melrose,  the 
statement  may  well  be  left  in  doubt. 

At  any  rate,  Dunluce,  like  Dunseverick,  the 
ancient  seat  of  the  O'Cahans  or  O'Kanes,  has 
been  in  part  hewn  out  of  the  coast-line  rocks, 
and  possesses  a  precipitous  and  jagged  barrier 
which  might  well  be  expected  to  forbid  any 
attack  by  sea.  It  is,  moreover,  entirely  sepa- 
rated from  the  mainland,  though  at  low  water 
connected  therewith  by  a  miniature  causeway 
in  much  the  same  manner  as  was  originally 


224  Romantic  Ireland 


the  famous  abbey  of  Mont  St.  Michel  in  Nor- 
mandy. 

Among  the  ruins  is  a  small  vaulted  cham- 
ber in  which,  it  is  believed  by  a  great  many 
folk  around  about,  a  banshee  resides.  The 
reason  assigned  for  this  belief  is  that  the  floor 
is  always  perfectly  clean.  It  is  difficult  to 
follow  this  line  of  reasoning;  more  probably 
the  true  solution  of  the  problem  is  that  the 
wind,  having  free  access  to  and  egress  from 
the  apartment,  carries  dust  and  dirt  before  it. 
Another  chamber  in  the  northeast  side  has 
fearful  attractions  for  the  venturesome.  The 
rock  which  formerly  supported  this  room  has 
fallen  away,  and,  like  a  dovecot,  it  is  sus- 
pended in  the  air  only  by  its  attachment  to  the 
main  building. 

The  erection  of  Dunluce  Castle  has  been 
assigned  to  De  Courcy,  Earl  of  Ulster,  and 
the  castle  was  in  the  hands  of  the  English  in 
the  fifteenth  century.  In  1580,  or  thereabouts, 
Colonel  M'Donald,  the  founder  of  the  family 
of  MacDonnells  of  Antrim,  came  to  Ireland 
to  assist  Tyrconnel  against  the  O'Neill,  a 
powerful  chieftain,  and  was  hospitably  enter- 
tained by  M'Quillan,  the  Lord  of  Dunluce, 


Londonderry  and  Giant's  Causeway  225 

whom  he  assisted  in  subduing  his  savage 
neighbours.  Being  successful  in  their  enter- 
prise, M'Donald  returned  to  Dunluce,  and  was 
pressed  to  winter  in  the  castle,  having  his 
men  quartered  on  the  vassals  of  McQuillan. 
M'Donald,  however,  took  advantage  of  his 
position  as  a  guest,  says  history,  and  privately 
married  the  daughter  of  his  host.  Upon  this 
marriage  the  MacDonnells  afterward  rested 
their  claim  to  M'Quillan's  territory.  A  con- 
spiracy among  the  Irish  to  murder  the  Scot- 
tish chief  and  his  followers  was  discovered  by 
his  wife,  and  they  made  their  escape,  but  re- 
turned afterward  and  came  to  possess  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  the  county  of  Antrim. 
The  affairs  of  the  McQuillans  and  their  suc- 
cessors, the  MacDonnells,  have  left  endless 
traditions,  but  the  descendants  of  the  former 
are  now  no  more  known  as  "  kings  and  lords," 
having  fallen  to  the  condition  of  "  hewers  of 
wood  and  drawers  of  water,"  says  a  local  his- 
torian. The  Scottish  family  became  lords  of 
Antrim  and  Dunluce. 

In  the  autumn  of  18 14  a  visit  was  paid  to 
the  ruins  of  Dunluce  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  who 
observed  a  great  resemblance  in  it  to  Dunottar 


226 


Romantic  Ireland 


Castle  in  Kincardineshire.  A  detailed  descrip- 
tion of  the.  ruins  is  given  in  his  diary. 

Just  off  the  Giant's  Causeway  is  Rathlin 
Island,  between  which  and  the  Mull  of  Cantyre 
on  the  Scottish  coast  all  the  Clyde-bound  ships 
feel  their  way  and  the  traveller  by  sea  knows 
that  he  is  well  in  toward  the  Firth  of  Clyde. 
Rathlin  Island  may  naturally  enough  be  pre- 
sumed to  be  of  the  same  strata  of  rocky  forma- 
tion of  which  the  Causeway  is  built,  practically 
a  link  which  once  may  have  bound  Ireland  and 
Scotland. 

Robert  Bruce,  in  1306,  during  the  wars  be- 
tween him  and  Baliol,  fled  to  this  island  with 
three  hundred  men,  returning  to  Scotland  in 
the  spring  of  the  following  year.  A  ruined 
castle,  said  to  be  inhabited  by  Bruce,  and  still 
bearing  his  name,  is  situated  on  a  high,  almost 
perpendicular  piece  of  land,  and  from  it  may 
be  obtained  a  view  of  the  Scottish  coast.  Many 
of  the  inhabitants,  who  number  above  a  thou- 
sand, speak  only  the  ancient  Irish  language. 

All  the  world  knows  Carrick-a-Rede  and  its 
famous  rope-bridge.  It  has  even  been  pictured 
in  the  school  geographies  along  with  such  won- 
ders of  the  world  as  Niagara  Falls  and  the 


CARRICK  -  A  -  REDE. 


Londonderry  and  Giant's  Causeway  229 

Pyramids  of  Egypt.  It  is  a  precipitous  island- 
rock,  a  hundred  feet  or  more  high,  which  is 
linked  to  the  mainland  by  an  airy  swinging 
bridge  of  ropes  and  "  slats,"  sixty  feet  long. 
There  are  no  sights  on  the  tiny  island  itself, 
and  the  bridge  is  only  meant  for  the  accom- 
modation of  fisher  and  shepherd  folk,  who, 
according  to  the  guide-books,  run  across  it 
heavily  laden  with  baskets  or  carcasses,  and 
in  a  manner  amazing  to  the  ordinary  beholder. 
In  practice,  or  at  least  so  far  as  the  casual 
traveller  is  concerned,  they  do  this  only  as  a 
sort  of  side-show  before  an  appreciative  au- 
dience who  may  have  paid  the  price  of  admis- 
sion. Nevertheless,  it  is  a  more  or  less  fright- 
ful crossing,  and  one  which  seems  to  fascinate 
all  who  view  it;  so  much  so  that  the  desire 
to  emulate  the  venturesome  native  rises  high  in 
the  stranger's  breast.  There  is  no  hand-rail  to 
the  bridge,  only  a  rope  that  swings  clear  away 
from  the  slight  foothold  if  it  is  heavily 
grasped ;  and  each  step  makes  the  whole  fabric 
quiver  like  a  jelly  from  end  to  end.  Still,  by 
stepping  quickly  and  lightly,  and  keeping  the 
eyes  fixed  on  the  opposite  rock,  the  pass  can 
be  made;    and  if  the  venturesome  traveller 


230  Romantic  Ireland 


misses  his  footing,  and  takes  a  header  of  a 
hundred  feet,  "  he  will  not  be  drowned/'  says 
the  enterprising  writer  of  a  certain  railway- 
guide;  "  the  fall  generally  kills  him  outright." 
The  return  journey  is  the  wiorst,  the  bridge 
sloping  downward  toward  the  mainland.  The 
local  fisher-people,  however,  are  quite  accus- 
tomed to  getting  out  boats  in  order  to'  release 
some  unlucky  voyager  from  imprisonment  on 
the  rock,  when  discretion  has  suddenly  over- 
powered valour  at  the  commencement  of  the 
return  trip ;  but  again  it  is  a  question  of  price. 
It  will  be  gathered  from  the  above  that  the 
writer's  advice,  concerning  the  crossing  of  the 
rope-bridge,  is  paraphrased  in  one  word, 
"  Don't." 


CHAPTER  X. 


ANTRIM  AND  DOWN 

JOURNEYING  from  the  Giant's  Causeway 
to  Belfast  and  Dublin,  through  the  north- 
eastern counties  of  Antrim  and  Down,  one 
comes  upon  a  region  little  known  to  the  casual 
traveller,  who  is  usually  smitten  at  once  with 
the  charms  of  Killarney  and  the  South,  and 
who  neglects  this  more  conveniently  and  com- 
fortably traversed  region. 

Truth  to  tell,  the  large  centres  of  popula- 
tion of  Dublin  and  Belfast,  and  sundry  visit- 
ors from  the  "  Midlands  "  of  England,  have 
appropriated  it  as  their  own  playground,  and, 
"  in  the  season,"  are  found  here  in  large  num- 
bers. 

This  need  be  no  detraction  from  the  charms 
of  the  region,  which,  if  not  historically  and 
picturesquely  possessed  of  the  same  qualities  as 
the  middle  and  south  of  Ireland,  at  least  has 
231 


232  Romantic  Ireland 


the  advantage  of  being  an  unworn  road  to  the 
majority  of  travellers. 

Drogheda,  on  the  estuary  of  the  river  Boyne, 
is  the  first  happy  hunting-ground  for  the  stu- 
dent of  history  and  architecture,  after  he 
leaves  the  immediate  environs  of  Dublin  itself. 

Drogheda  is  at  once  ancient  and  modern. 
Its  shops  and  factories,  its  shipping  and  its 
tramways,  are  evidences  of  that  modernity 
which  is  ever  obtrusive  in  an  old-world  shrine 
of  history. 

Drogheda,  according  to  one  authority,  was 
formerly  called  Tredagh,  and  originally  Imb- 
bar  Colpa.  "  It  is  so  very  ancient  that  it  is 
supposed  to  have  been  founded  by  Heremon, 
one  of  the  sons  of  Milesius,  who,  having  ar- 
rived from  Spain  with  Heber  and  his  other 
brothers  at  Imbbar  Sceine  (Bantry  Bay),  was 
subsequently  separated  from  Heber  by  a  storm, 
and,  while  Heber  regained  the  Kerry  coast, 
Heremon,  after  innumerable  hardships,  put 
into  Drogheda,  where  he  effected  a  landing, 
but  with  the  loss  of  his  brothers  and  Colpa,  the 
swordsman,  who  perished  in  the  bay,  and  from 
which  circumstance  the  town  derived  its 
name."    Thus  writes  Anthony  Marmion,  in 


Antrim  and  Down  233 


his  "  History  of  the  Maritime  Ports  of  Ire- 
land." "  There  can  be  no  doubt,"  he  continues, 
"  that  an  eastern  colony  of  Mithraic,  or  sun- 
worshippers,  had  been  early  established  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Drogheda."  Coming,  how- 
ever, to  less  remote  and  fabulous  happenings, 
Drogheda,  whose  Irish  name  was  Droicehead- 
atha,  the  Bridge  of  the  Ford,  was  taken  by 
Turgesius  the  Dane  in  911,  and  made  a  strong- 
hold for  raids  into  the  surrounding  country. 
Its  importance  was  also  recognized  by  the 
Anglo-Normans,  who  built  a  bridge  across  the 
Boyne  at  this  point.  The  most  celebrated 
military  event  in  the  town's  history  was  its 
siege  and  capture  by  Cromwell  in  1649. 

The  walls  and  gates,  so  unusual  in  Ireland, 
were  formerly  a  line  of  defence  a  mile  and 
a  half  or  more  in  circumference,  and,  from  the 
very  substantial  remains  of  the  St.  Laurence 
Gate  and  the  West  or  Butler  Gate,  it  may  be 
inferred  that  they  were  a  wonderfully  effective 
defence,  sharing  with  the  walls  of  Derry  the 
glory  of  being  the  most  elaborate  works  of 
their  kind  in  Ireland. 

The  most  curious  architectural  embellish- 
ment of  Drogheda  is  the  famous  Magdalen 


234  Romantic  Ireland 


steeple  —  all  that  remains  of  the  Dominican 
Abbey  founded  in  1224  by  the  Archbishop  of 
Armagh,  whose  remains  lie  buried  in  the  ruins. 

Here,  in  1395,  Richard  II.  of  England  held 
court,  and  within  the  building  four  Irish 
princes  did  homage  to  the  king,  and  were 
knighted  by  him.  Cromwell's  cannon  razed 
the  building  until  only  the  grim,  gaunt  tower 
or  steeple  was  left.  A  sepulchral  cairn  of  stone, 
known  as  the  Mill  Mount,  appears  to  have 
been  the  ancient  citadel  of  Drogheda.  A  myth- 
ical hero  of  the  prechristian  era,  "  Ghoban  the 
Smith,"  is  supposed  to  have  been  buried  here. 

North  of  the  Boyne  estuary  is  Dundalk  Bay, 
in  itself  a  beautifully  disposed  body  of  water 
which,  if  not  possessed  of  the  ruggedness  of 
the  fiords  of  Western  Ireland,  is  in  every  way 
an  attractive  setting  for  Dundalk  itself,  which 
is  mostly  a  town  of  one  long  vertebrate  street 
along  which  short  spines  radiate  for  a  brief 
distance  and  lose  themselves  in  the  background 
of  hills  or  in  the  strand  of  the  sea. 

Edward  Bruce,  the  brother  of  the  Scottish 
Robert,  stormed  Dundalk  after  Bannockburn, 
and  lived  here,  after  taking  the  town,  for  two 


Antrim  and  Down  235 


years.  He  died  in  the  engagement  fought  near 
Dundalk  with  the  English  army,  in  13 18. 

In  1649  Monk  held  the  town  for  the  king 
against  Cromwell. 

At  the  head  of  Carlingford  Lough  is  Newry, 
pleasantly  situated  in  a  valley  overlooked  by 
the  Carlingford  Mountains.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  ancient  towns  in  the  island,  being  famed 
even  in  Irish  bardic  literature.  It  was  also 
the  seat  of  a  monastery,  where  St.  Patrick 
himself,  it  is  said,  planted  a  yew-tree,  referred 
to  in  no  complimentary  strain  in  Swift's  satiric 
couplet : 

"  High  Church,  low  steeple, 
Dirty  streets,  and  proud  people." 

Newry  took  to  itself  the  admonition,  cleaned 
itself  up  in  later  years,  and  has  become  in  all 
respects  a  flourishing  modern  town. 

A  Cistercian  abbey  was  founded  here  in 
1 175,  according  to  the  "  Monasticum  Hiber- 
nica,"  but  no  remains  exist  to-day  to  suggest 
its  former  importance. 

Rostrevor  is  the  chief  tourist  centre  of 
Carlingford  Lough.    It  is  confidently  claimed 


236  Romantic  Ireland 


by  many  to  be  the  most  popular  resort  in  all 
Ireland,  which  it  evidently  is. 

Moreover,  it  is  a  marvellously  pretty  place 
of  the  stage-scenery  order,  but  its  attractions 
are  somewhat  exaggerated.  Its  popularity  is 
accounted  for  by  its  accessibility  to  Dublin 
and  Belfast,  whose  work-worn  habitants  flee 
here  in  large  numbers,  in  season  and  out. 
Rostrevor,  as  might  be  expected,  has  its  popu- 
lar legend  also.    It  runs  as  follows : 

"  The  Bell  of  St.  Bronach,  now  to  be  seen 
on  the  altar  of  the  Catholic  Chapel,  has  a 
strangely  romantic  history.  There  is  a  ruined 
Church  of  Kilbroney  on  the  hillside,  not  far 
from  the  town.  For  hundreds  of  years,  the 
legend  of  a  fairy  bell  had  been  current  about 
Kilbroney.  It  was  said  that,  whenever  mis- 
fortune threatened  the  town,  the  note  of  a 
strange,  silvery,  unearthly  sounding  bell  echoed 
through  the  forests.  Many  heard  the  bell,  but 
no  one  succeeded  in  solving  the  mystery,  or 
indeed,  ever  suspected  that  there  was  any  solu- 
tion save  a  supernatural  one.  In  the  end  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  however,  an  ancient 
tree  was  blown  down,  and,  in  its  hollow  heart, 
was  found  a  bronze  church-bell  of  immense 


Antrim  and  Down  237 


size  and  of  great  antiquarian  value.  It  was 
this  bell,  hidden  in  the  heart  of  the  tree  many 
centuries  before,  that  had  sounded  its  note 
of  death  and  terror,  whenever  a  storm  of  un- 
usual force  rocked  the  great  tree  in  whose 
depths  it  lay  concealed.  No  doubt  it  had  been 
hidden  in  the  tree  for  safety,  during  some 
raid  of  pagan  tribes,  and  by  accident,  or 
through  the  death  of  the  pious  ecclesiastic  who 
concealed  it,  was  never  removed." 

Carlingford  itself,  and  the  celebrated  beauty 
of  the  Lough,  will  ever  appeal  to  all  lovers  of 
nature  and  romantic  associations. 

The  great  attraction  is  Carlingford  Castle, 
one  of  King  John's  Irish  fortresses,  erected  in 
12 10  by  De  Courcy  at  the  king's  bidding. 
Some  ruined  castles  are  interesting,  some 
rather  the  reverse.  Carlingford  Castle  belongs 
to  the  former  class.  The  courtyard,  with  its 
walls  eleven  feet  in  thickness,  and  galleries 
fitted  with  recesses  for  archers  at  each  loop- 
hole; the  curious  little  secret  chamber,  which 
one  may  reach  by  climbing  up  a  wall,  and 
through  a  mass  of  tangled  ivy;  the  spiral 
staircase  winding  up  to  an  airy  battlemented 
height;  all  these  are  as  interesting  as  they  are 


Romantic  Ireland 


picturesque.  Underground,  there  is  a  range 
of  small,  gloomy  dungeons,  hewn  out  of  the 
solid  rock,  where  many  a  gallant  life  must 
have  been  worn  away  in  bitter  agony  and  des- 
pair, seven  centuries  ago,  in  those  times  when 
chivalry  and  romance  were  inextricably  mixed 
with  brutality.  Just  above  the  dungeon-cells 
runs  the  ruined  stone  terrace,  looking  out  to 
sea,  where  (tradition  says)  the  lords  and  ladies 
who  accompanied  King  John  to  Ireland  used 
to  walk  up  and  down  of  a  summer  evening,  in 
the  cool  of  the  sunset  wind.  This  of  course 
is  most  probable,  and  it  is  perhaps  a  not  un- 
usual proceeding,  still  it  is  pleasant  to  recall. 
The  lute  must  often  have  sounded  across  the 
waters  of  the  lough  in  those  golden  evening 
hours,  the  careless  laugh  rung  out,  the  silken 
cloak  swung,  and  the  gauzy  veil  fluttered  from 
the  high  "sugar-loaf"  head-dress,  within  sound 
of  clanking  chains,  and  cries  from  half-mad- 
dened, famishing,  and  tortured  wretches  below. 
One  need  go  no  deeper  into  history  than  any 
account  of  King  John,  to  understand  what  kind 
of  treatment  his  prisoners  were  likely  to  re- 
ceive. 

Greenore,   at  the  mouth   of  Carlingford 


Antrim  and  Down  239 


Lough,  is  the  key  to  the  passenger  traffic  be- 
tween England  and  Belfast,  Londonderry, 
Enniskillen,  and  other  places  in  the  north  and 
northwest  of  Ireland.  It  is  a  remarkable  fact 
that  the  strategic  importance  of  Carlingford 
Lough  should  be  thus  recognized  in  a  peaceful 
fashion  at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century; 
for  one  recalls  that  the  ruined  castles  at  Car- 
lingford and  Greencastle  were  built  by  the 
Anglo-Normans,  at  the  close  of  the  twelfth 
and  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  centuries,  to 
protect  their  lines  of  communication  when  in- 
vading, in  a  far  different  and  more  tragic 
fashion,  the  hills  and  dales  of  Ulster.  The 
frowning  ruins  of  Carlingford  Castle  still  seem 
to  guard  the  western  shore  of  the  lough,  while 
the  fortress  of  Greencastle,  on  the  eastern 
shore,  commands  a  glorious  view  from;  its  lofty 
battlements. 

Greenore  supposedly  presents  many  attrac- 
tions for  the  tourist,  but  they  are  mainly  of  the 
kind  set  forth  in  the  tourist  programmes  of  the 
shipping  companies  and  the  railways,  and,  in 
fact,  they  are  but  of  the  conventional  variety, 
though  it  is  only  fair  to  say  they  are  here 
perused  under  very  attractive  and  charming 


Antrim  and  Down 


243 


on  the  river  Quoile,  which  shows  off  its  im- 
posing cathedral  in  a  most  pleasing  manner. 

The  native  Kings  of  Ulster  had  their  resi- 
dence here  before  the  coming  of  Christianity. 
The  town  was  known  anciently  to  Ptolemy, 
who  called  it  Dunum. 

The  religious  foundation  of  the  place  dates 
from  432  to  440,  when  St.  Patrick  established 
the  see  and  the  Abbey  of  Saul  of  the  Canons 
Regular,  who  was  superceded  in  1 183.  a  few 
years  after  the  town  was  taken  by  John  de 
Courcy,  by  the  Benedictines. 

The  cathedral  of  to-day  is  a  rehabilitation 
of  an  ancient  ecclesiastical  building,  though  to 
all  appearances  it  is  a  comparatively  modern 
work  and  is  often  credited  as  such. 

Locally,  great  importance  is  naturally  at- 
tached to  the  supposed  fact  that  Downpatrick 
is  the  burial-place  of  St.  Patrick,  and  a  rough, 
unhewn  boulder  marks  the  spot  in  the  church- 
yard where  his  bones  rest  —  or  do  not  rest, 
for  there  is  great  and  constant  doubt  as  to 
whether  this  is  really  so  or  not.  However, 
there  are,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  many  who 
would  like  to  believe  they  had  visited  such  a 


244  Romantic  Ireland 

hallowed  spot,  and  perhaps  for  this  reason  the 
want  has  been  supplied. 

Moreover,  in  the  old  church  which  stood  on 
the  site  of  the  present  cathedral,  which  Harris, 
the  antiquarian,  described  in  1744,  there  was 
an  inscription  in  monkish  Latin  which,  trans- 
lated, reads : 

"  Three  saints  do  rest  upon  this  holy  hill, 
St.  Patrick,  Bridget,  and  Columbkille." 

This  would  seem  to  justify  in  a  measure  the 
claim,  though  the  rhyme  is  pretty  bad. 

Jeremy  Taylor  was  for  a  time  Bishop  of 
Down,  as  was  also  Thomas  Percy,  celebrated 
for  his  famous  edition  of  the  "  Reliques  of  An- 
cient Poetry." 

There  are  many  historical  and  ecclesiastical 
remains  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood,  in- 
cluding the  Cistercian  Abbey  of  Inch,  founded 
in  1 187  by  John  de  Courcy,  and  the  celebrated 
Wells  of  Struell,  supposedly  of  great  virtue 
for  the  lame,  the  halt,  and  the  blind.  To-day 
their  efficacy  seems  somewhat  dimmed,  as  one 
does  not  hear  of  any  remarkable  cures  which 
have  recently  taken  place. 

About  the  only  convenient  way  to  reach 


Antrim  and  Down  245 

Armagh,  —  Ireland's  most  ancient  and  famous 
seat  of  learning,  —  when  making  the  coast 
tour  of  the  north  of  Ireland,  is  from  Belfast. 

Armagh,  about  which  so  much  has  been 
written  by  all  manner  of  pen-wielders,  and 
about  which  so  much  is  yet  destined  to  be 
written,  is  one  of  the  most  attractive  towns  in 
Ireland,  albeit  it  is  not  on  the  seacoast  or  on 
an  important  waterway. 

Newcastle,  in  the  minds  of  many,  is  merely 
the  home  of  "  The  best  golf-links  in  Ireland." 
This  is  perhaps  a  sign  of  the  advanced  age  in 
which  we  live,  but  Newcastle,  forty  miles  north 
of  Dublin,  can  lay  claim  to  more  than  that. 

Newcastle,  as  a  tourist  point  and  "  a  beauty- 
spot,"  really  exists  by  means  of,  and  on  ac- 
count of,  Slieve  Donard,  the  highest  mountain 
in  Ulster,  which  hangs  its  2,796  feet  right  over 
the  little  seacoast  town,  and  provides  non- 
golfing  visitors  with  a  continual  field  for  pleas- 
ant excursions.  The  beautiful  estate  of  Donard 
Lodge  lying  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain  is, 
too,  a  great  attraction,  as  also  are  Castlewellan, 
the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Annesley,  and  the  Earl 
of  Roden's  domain  of  Tollymore  Park;  and 
as  these  three  estates  enclose  or  command  most 


246 


Romantic  Ireland 


of  the  beautiful  mountain  and  forest  scenery 
for  which  Newcastle  is  noted,  they  really  form 
the  irresistible  attractions  of  the  place.  The 
whole  range  of  the  beautiful  blue  Mourne 
Mountains  can  be  seen  from  Castlewellan, 
which  lies  on  the  side  of  Slieve-na-Slat. 

Not  far  from  Newcastle  is  Rostrevor,  a 
prettly  little  village  with  a  church-spire  nes- 
tling among  the  trees  and  overhanging  the 
picturesque  coast-line  of  Carlingford  Lough. 

Much  morbid  interest  is  usually  awakened 
by  the  recollection  of  certain  events  which  took 
place  in  the  neigbourhood.  At  Bloody  Bridge 
was  a  terrible  massacre  in  1641 ;  Mourne 
Park  and  Mourne  Abbey  are  generally  famous 
spots ;  the  village  of  Killowen,  from  which  the 
late  Lord  Russell  of  Killowen  chose  his  title, 
contains  the  house  where  Pat  Murphy,  the  Irish 
giant,  was  born,  and  the  ruined  chapel  where 
the  celebrated  Yelverton  marriage  took  place 
in  1861. 

Many  will  recall  the  details  of  this  famous 
cause  celebre.  Pretty  Miss  Longworth,  a 
Roman  Catholic  girl  of  high  family,  met  and 
was  loved  by  the  Protestant  Major  Yelverton, 
whom  she  nursed  in  the  Crimea.    A  secret 


Antrim  and  Down 


247 


marriage  was  arranged  after  both  had  returned 
to  Ireland,  and  a  hurried  journey  was  made 
from  Waterford  to  Rostrevor.  They  rowed 
down  the  lough  to  the  little  chapel  next 
morning,  and  were  married  by  the  parish  priest. 
In  after  years  came  the  desertion  of  the  bride 
and  an  action  for  maintenance,  which  was  de- 
cided by  an  Irish  jury  in  the  lady's  favour, 
but  subsequently  reversed  by  the  House  of 
Lords.  Probably  no  mixed-marriage  case 
ever  excited  so  much  interest  in  the  three  king- 
doms, and  even  yet  the  chapel  and  the  village 
are  inextricably  associated  with  this  sad  story 
of  love  and  betrayal. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THE  BOYNE  VALLEY 

DROGHEDA,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Boyne, 
first  calls  to  mind  the  memorable  siege 
by  Cromwell,  and  the  "  Battle  of  the  Boyne." 
In  1649  Cromwell  landed  at  Dublin  with  an 
army  of  twelve  thousand  men  besides  artillery. 
Drogheda  was  the  first  place  he  attacked. 
The  assailants  were  twice  repulsed,  but  the 
third  attack,  led  by  Cromwell  in  person,  was 
successful;  and  then  commenced  that  indis- 
criminate slaughter  which  has  rendered  the 
name  of  the  Protector  execrated  throughout 
Ireland. 

It  was  a  plain,  matter-of-fact,  brutal  war- 
fare, this,  but  the  battle  of  the  Boyne  —  asso- 
ciated with  the  doubly  historic  little  river 
which  rises  out  of  one  of  Ireland's  famous 
"  holy  wells,"  in  the  county  of  Kildare  —  pos- 
sesses more  largely  the  elements  of  romance 
248 


The  Boyne  Valley  249 


than  many  another,  though  they  were  more 
bloody  and  the  results  of  greater  moment. 

Here,  within  a  mile  of  Drogheda,  where  the 
unlovely  obelisk  still  marks  the  spot,  was 
fought,  in  1690,  the  celebrated  battle  between 
the  Prince  of  Orange  and  his  father-in-law, 
James  II.  The  armies  were  nearly  equal  in 
strength,  thirty  thousand  men.  Five  hundred 
were  killed  on  the  side  of  William  of  Orange, 
and  one  thousand  on  the  other.  The  account 
of  the  flight  of  James  II.,  taken  from  Kohl's 
"  Ireland/'  is  interesting: 

"  James  II.  displayed  but  little  courage  in 
this  memorable  battle.  He  abandoned  the  field 
even  before  the  battle  was  decided,  and  made 
a  ride  of  unexampled  rapidity  through  Ire- 
land. In  a  few  hours  he  reached  the  castle  of 
Dublin,  and  in  the  following  day  he  rode  to 
Waterford,  a  distance  of  one  hundred  English 
miles.  Nevertheless,  James  sought  to  throw 
the  whole  blame  of  the  defeat  on  the  Irish. 
On  arriving  at  the  castle  of  Dublin,  he  met 
the  Lady  Tyrconnel,  a  woman  of  ready  wit, 
to  whom  he  exclaimed,  '  Your  countrymen, 
the  Irish,  madam,  can  run  very  fast,  it  must 
be  owned.'    '  In  this,  as  in  every  other  re- 


250  Romantic  Ireland 


speet,  your  Majesty  surpasses  them,  for  you 
have  woo  the  race/  was  the  merited  rebuke  of 
the  lady." 

An  obelisk  to-day  marks  the  spot  where 
William  commenced  the  attack,  and  where 
Schomberg  fell.  The  inscription  which  it 
bears  is  significant,  sectarian,  and  sentimental, 
it  is  true;  but  it  is  explanatory  of  much  that 
makers  of  guide-books  have  often  neglected  or 
ignored. 

"  Sacred  to  the  glorious  memory  of  King  William  the 
Third,  who,  on  the  first  of  July,  1690,  passed  the  river 
near  this  place  to  attack  James  the  Second  at  the  head 
of  a  Popish  army,  advantageously  posted  on  the  south 
side  of  it,  and  did  on  that  day,  by  a  single  battle,  secure 
to  us,  and  to  our  posterity,  our  liberty,  laws,  and  religion. 
In  consequence  of  this  action  James  the  Second  left  this 
kingdom  and  fled  to  France. 

"  This  memorial  of  our  deliverance  was  erected  in  the 
9th  year  of  the  reign  of  King  George  the  Second,  the  first 
stone  being  laid  by  Lionel  Sackville,  Duke  of  Dorset, 
Lord  Lieutenant  of  the  Kingdom  of  Ireland. 

«  1736." 

The  entire  Boyne  valley,  restricted  though 
its  area  is,  encompasses  much  more  of  the  his- 
toric past  of  Ireland  than  any  other  spot. 


The  Boyne  Valley  251 


There  may  elsewhere  be  grander  scenery,  — 
admittedly  there  is,  —  and  there  may  even  be 
more  numerous  historic  remains,  and  of  greater 
magnitude;  but  from  Drogheda  to  its  source 
in  Kildare  is  a  grand  succession  of  spots  which 
have  made  much  history  for  Ireland,  and  great 
fame  for  those  who  figured  in  the  events  that 
took  place. 

The  great  figure  of  prechristian  Erin  is 
undoubtedly  that  of  Cormac-Ard-ri-Cormace 
the  First,  who  reigned  in  the  early  years  of  the 
third  century. 

"  His  reign,"  says  Haverty,  the  historian, 
"  is  generally  looked  upon  as  the  brightest 
epoch  in  the  entire  history  of  pagan  Ireland. " 
He  established  three  colleges;  one  for  war, 
one  for  history,  and  the  third  for  jurispru- 
dence. He  collected  and  remodelled  the  laws, 
and  published  the  code  which  remained  in  force 
throughout  all  Ireland  until  the  English  in- 
vasion (a  period  extending  beyond  nine  hun- 
dred years),  and  which,  outside  the  English 
pale,  lingered  for  many  centuries  after!  He 
assembled  the  bards  and  chroniclers  at  Tara, 
and  directed  them  to  collect  the  annals  of  Ire- 
land, and  to  write  out  the  records  of  the  coun- 


252 


Romantic  Ireland 


try  from  year  to  year,  making  them  agree 
with  the  history  of  other  countries,  by  col- 
lating events  with  the  reigns  of  contemporary 
foreign  potentates,  Cormac  himself  having 
been  the  inventor  of  this  kind  of  chronology. 
If  this  be  so,  the  modern  historians  who  claim 
to  have  been  the  originators  of  this  cochrono- 
logical  scheme  have  an  apology  to  make.  These 
annals  formed  the  "  Psalter  of  Tara,"  which 
also  contained  full  details  of  the  boundaries  of 
provinces,  districts,  and  small  divisions  of  land 
throughout  Ireland.  Unfortunately,  this  great 
record  has  been  lost,  no  vestige  of  it  being 
now,  it  is  believed,  in  existence. 

The  magnificence  of  Cormac's  palace  at 
Tara  was  commensurate  with  the  greatness  of 
his  power  and  the  brilliancy  of  his  actions.  He 
fitted  out  a  fleet  which  he  sent  to  harass  the 
shores  of  Alba  or  Scotland,  until  that  country 
also  was  compelled  to  acknowledge  him  as 
sovereign.  He  wrote  a  book,  or  tract,  called 
"  Teagusc-na-Ri,"  or  the  "  Institutions  of  a 
Prince/'  which  is  still  in  existence,  and  which 
contains  admirable  maxims  on  manners,  mor- 
als, and  government.  He  died  a.  d.  266,  at 
Cleitach,  on  the  Boyne,  a  salmon-bone,  it  is 


The  Boyne  Valley  253 


said,  having  fastened  in  his  throat  while  din- 
ing, and  defied  all  efforts  at  extrication.  He 
was  buried  at  Ross-na-Ri,  the  first  of  the  pagan 
monarchs  for  many  generations  who  was  not 
interred  at  Brugh,  the  famous  burial-place  of 
the  prechristian  kings. 

Ferguson's  poem,  classically  entitled  "  The 
Burial  of  King  Cormac,"  recounts  the  inci- 
dent of  his  death  at  length,  and  picturesquely. 

Cormac  must  have  been  altogether  a  glorious 
personage,  judging  from  a  description  which 
has  come  down  to  us  from  an  ancient  Irish 
MS.: 

"  Beautiful  was  the  appearance  of  Cormac 
(this  was  before  he  lost  his  eye)  in  that  as- 
sembly. Flowing,  slightly  curling  hair  upon 
him;  a  red  buckler  with  stars  and  animals  of 
gold  and  fastening  of  silver  upon  him;  a 
crimson  cloak  in  wide,  descending  folds  upon 
him,  fastened  at  his  breast  by  a  golden  brooch 
set  with  precious  stones ;  a  neck-torque  of  gold 
around  his  neck;  a  white  shirt  with  a  full 
collar,  and  intertwined  with  red-gold  thread 
upon  him;  a  girdle  of  gold  inlaid  with  pre- 
cious stones  around  him ;  two  wonderful  shoes 


4  254 


Romantic  Ireland 


of  gold  with  runnings  of  gold  upon  him ;  two 
spears  with  golden  sockets  in  his  hand." 

This,  then,  is  the  description  of  the  royal 
Cormac  with  his  curling,  golden  hair  and  opu- 
lence of  barbaric  trappings,  and  the  scenes 
over  which  he  presided  were  surely  in  keeping 
with  his  magnificence,  though  only  by  a  strong 
effort  of  imagination  can  they  now  be  recalled. 

The  chief  and  most  splendid  structures  of 
the  interior  of  Ireland  in  ancient  times  were 
Emania  and  Tara.  The  former,  the  one- 
time palace  of  the  kings  of  Ulster,  was  alleged 
to  have  been  built  about  three  hundred  and 
fifty  years  before  the  Christian  era.  It  existed 
as  late  as  Columba's  time,  though  it  had  ceased 
to  be  a  royal  residence;  and  the  antiquarians, 
Camden  and  Speed,  attest  that  fragmentary 
remains  of  this  splendid  establishment  existed 
even  in  their  day  (seventeenth  century).  If 
this  be  really  so,  the  ruin,  if  it  could  even  be 
called  by  so  explicit  a  name,  must  have  been 
one  of  the  most  ancient  existing  in  northern 
climes. 

Tara  was  a  place  of  greater,  and  yet  more 
modern,  celebrity.  It  was  situated  in  the  plain 
of  Bregia,  which  extended  between  the  Boyne, 


Destiny,  Tara 


The  Boyne  Valley  257 


the  Liffey,  and  the  sea,  and  was  preeminent 
above  all  other  edifices  as  having  been  the  resi- 
dence of  Irish  kings  for  upwards  of  a  thousand 
years. 

A  contributor  to  the  "  Transactions  of  the 
Royal  Irish  Academy,"  writing  in  1830,  has 
described  Tara  as  it  appeared  to  him  on  a  re- 
cent visit : 

"  Only  when  one  finds  himself  at  the  base 
of  the  venerable  mount  does  it  present  an  at- 
titude of  much  interest.  At  the  left  are  the 
gloomy  remains  of  the  church  of  Screen  and 
the  once  noble  mansion  and  demesne  of  Lord 
Tara,  back  of  which  are  the  remains  of  several 
old  stone  edifices  and  of  a  particularly  narrow 
bridge  which  still  spans  a  weedy  rivulet.  Pass- 
ing through  the  villages  and  by  the  church,  one 
identifies  some  large  rocks  as  having  exercised 
the  strength  or  yielded  to  the  sword  of  Fin 
MacComhal  (Fingal).  Here  one  finds  him- 
self on  the  summit  of  Tara;  and  if  he  goes 
there  with  none  of  that  wild  enthusiasm  which 
requires  towers  and  battlements  and  draw- 
bridges and  bower-windows,  and  donjon-keeps, 
to  gratify  it,  he  will  feel  most  awfully  the  un- 
alterable royalty  of  the  prospect  it  commands. 


258  Romantic  Ireland 

"  When  the  natural  advantages  of  the  scene 
have  obtained  their  due  homage,  let  the  visitor 
look  for  vestiges  of  the  past,  and  there  he  will 
not  be  disappointed;  for  the  place  seemeth  to 
bear  the  shew  of  an  ancient  and  famous  monu- 
ment." 

All  of  which  observations  are  sufficiently 
noncommittal  to  be  undisputed;  and  unless 
one  is  an  arrant  idol-breaker,  —  and  we  haven't 
many  in  these  days,  —  he  will  be  quite  willing 
to  accept  the  description  as  being  sufficiently 
explicit  to  permit  of  his  putting  himself  in  the 
same  place,  and  making  the  same  observations. 

The  site  is  assuredly  authentic,  and  the  link 
of  history  which  binds  its  past  with  the  present 
is  something  more  than  a  suggestion;  though 
by  no  means  need  we  seek  or  envy  the  emotions 
which  inspired  Moore's  verses: 

"  The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  Halls 

The  soul  of  music  shed, 
Now  hangs  as  mute  on  Tara's  walls, 

As  if  that  soul  were  fled,  — 
So  sleeps  the  pride  of  former  days, 

So  glory's  thrill  is  o'er, 
And  hearts  that  once  beat  high  for  praise, 

Now  feel  that  pulse  no  more. 


The  Boyne  Valley  259 


"  No  more  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright 

The  harp  of  Tara  swells, 
The  chord  alone,  that  breaks  at  night, 

Its  tale  of  ruin  tells. 
Thus  freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes 

The  only  throb  she  gives, 
Is  when  some  heart  indignant  breaks 

To  show  that  she  still  lives." 

Near  Drogheda  is  Monasterboice,  a  collec- 
tion of  celebrated  ecclesiastical  ruins.  Within 
an  enclosed  churchyard,  which  stands  quite 
apart  from  any  settlement  of  to-day,  are  two 
tiny  chapels,  a  round  tower  of  considerable 
proportions  (no  feet  high  and  50  feet  in  cir- 
cumference at  its  base),  and  three  stone 
crosses,  the  principal  of  which,  known  as  St. 
Boyne's  Cross,  is  reputedly  the  most  ancient 
religious  relique  now  standing  in  Ireland. 
Among  its  rude  sculptures,  there  is  an  inscrip- 
tion in  Irish  characters,  in  which  is  plainly 
legible  the  name  of  Murelach,  a  king  of  Ire- 
land who'  died  in  534,  about  one  hundred  years 
after  the  arrival  of  St.  Patrick.  The  height 
of  this  cross  is  twenty-seven  feet,  and  it  is 
composed  of  two  stones.  The  shafts  are  di- 
vided into  compartments  ornamiented  with 
figures.    One  group  represents  "  a  couple  of 


260 


Romantic  Ireland 


harpers  in  paradise/'  of  which  Kohl  says : 
"  No  Irishman  of  the  olden  times  would  have 
thought  paradise  complete  without  his  beloved 
national  instrument." 

This  recalls  Lover's  verses,  but  whether  or 
no  so  rude  a  symbolism  inspired  them  it  is 
impossible  to  state. 

"  Oh  !  give  me  one  strain 
Of  that  wild  harp  again, 
In  melody  proudly  its  own, 
Sweet  harp  of  the  days  that  are  gone." 

The  entire  region  of  the  Boyne  valley  is 
rich  in  tradition  and  history,  far  more  so  than 
any  other  area  of  its  size  in  Ireland. 

From  Drogheda,  at  the  river's  mouth,  to 
Trim,  just  beyond  Tara,  and  to  Kells  on  the 
Blackwater  (not  to  be  confounded  with  the 
Blackwater  of  the  south),  the  Boyne's  chief 
tributary,  is  scarce  fifty  miles ;  but  there  are  a 
succession  of  shrines  of  history  of  which  even 
the  most  unfamiliar  are  household  words. 

At  Trim  one  is  in  the  midst  of  military  and 
ecclesiastical  ruins  which  will  make  the  lover 
of  architectural  remains  long  for  the  oppor- 
tunity of  knowing  them  better.    There  is  the 


The  Boyne  Valley  263 


usual  "  King  John's  Castle,"  in  reality  Dangan 
Castle,  an  ancient  military  erection  of  the  De 
Lacys,  commonly  called,  and  apparently  with 
justification,  "  the  finest  example  of  Anglo- 
Norman  military  architecture  in  Ireland." 

It  was  founded  in  11 70  by  the  De  Lacy  who 
was  given,  by  Henry  II.,  the  lordship  of  Meath, 
one  of  the  five  original  kingdoms  of  Ireland. 

The  original  structure  was  burnt  to  prevent 
its  falling  into  the  hands  of  Roderic,  King  of 
Connaught.  The  present  remains  date  from 
1220,  and,  though  locally  known  as  "  King 
John's  Castle,"  the  records  tell  us  that  the 
monarch  himself  is  only  known  to  have  visited 
Trim  for  but  two  days;  hence  his  occupancy, 
if  not  his  actual  proprietorship,  was  very  brief. 

It  must,  truly,  have  been  formerly  a  magnif- 
icent work  of  its  kind,  its  shape  being  tri- 
angular, as  is  that  noblest  of  all  Anglo-Nor- 
man castles,  Chateau  Gaillard  in  Normandy. 

Ten  flanking  towers  protected  its  gateways, 
which,  in  their  turn,  were  preceded  each  by  a 
barbican.  The  most  imposing  of  its  details, 
which  is  more  or  less  intact,  is  the  keep,  a 
massive  tower  sixty-four  feet  square  and  sixty 
feet  in  height,   In  this  detail  it  differed  greatly 


264 


Romantic  Ireland 


from  its  Norman  brothers  and  sisters :  in  that 
at  Chateau  Gaillard,  and  others  in  Normandy, 
the  keep  was  invariably  circular. 

Trim's  ecclesiastical  history  dates  back  to  the 
foundation  of  a  church  here  by  St.  Patrick  in 
the  fifth  century.  Its  site  is  perpetuated  to- 
day by  the  famous  Yellow  Tower  of  the  church 
of  St.  Mary's  Abbey,  the  most  lofty  Anglo- 
Norman  erection  in  Ireland  (125  feet).  Its 
outlines  and  stages  were  reduced  nearly  to 
ruin  by  Cromwell's  warriors,  but  enough  re- 
mains to-day  to  suggest  that  its  former  func- 
tions of  watch-tower  and  refuge  must  have 
been  most  efficient. 

"  Literary  pilgrims  "  will  be  more  interested 
perhaps  in  visiting  the  tiny  parish  of  Laracar, 
so  indelibly  associated  with  the  lives  of  Swift 
and  his  "  Stella."  It  lies  but  two  short  miles 
south  of  Trim,  and  is  still  one  of  those  delight- 
ful, unspoiled,  old-time  villages  which  one 
occasionally  comes  across.  Swift  was  the  in- 
cumbent of  this  parish  in  1699,  and  "  Stella," 
chaperoned  by  Mrs.  Dingley,  was  quartered 
here  in  lodgings.  The  ladies  moved  into  the 
glebe-house,  so  literary  gossip  says,  when  Swift 
was  on  his  travels,  and  the  "  Journal  to  Stella  " 


The  Boyne  Valley  265 


was  addressed  there.  Swift's  house,  now  but 
a  fragment  of  a  ruin,  remains,  as  also  the 
church  in  which  "  dearly  beloved  Roger  "  was 
clerk. 

Down  the  Boyne  from  Trim  one  comes  first 
to  Bective  Abbey,  which,  according  to  a  local 
authority,  differs  from  every  other  monastic 
establishment  in  the  kingdom,  in  that  it  was 
a  monastic  castle  or  fortress.  It  was  a  Cis- 
tercian foundation  of  the  twelfth  century,  first 
endowed  by  O'Melaghlin,  a  prince  of  Meath. 
It  is  a  fine  ruin  to-day,  and,  although  the  parts 
of  its  original  outlines  are  somewhat  lost,  the 
pointed  fenestration  is  remarkable  and  un- 
usually well  preserved.  Hugh  de  Lacy,  after 
his  assassination  at  Durrow  Castle,  was 
brought  here  for  burial,  but  his  head  was  in- 
terred in  the  tomb  of  Rosa  de  Monmouth  in 
the  Abbey  of  St.  Thomas  at  Dublin. 

Here  one  is  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
Tara  and  its  famous  hill,  the  site  of  Ireland's 
most  celebrated  and  splendid  kingly  residence. 

Between  Tara  and  Kells  is  Navan,  which, 
of  itself,  is  an  ordinary  "  market  town/'  with 
nothing  to  commend  it  to  the  lover  of  beauty 
and  history  but  its  immediate  vicinity  to  the 


266 


Romantic  Ireland 


junction  of  the  rivers  Blackwater  and  Boyne. 
This  particular  spot,  just  below  Navan,  is  one 
of  exceptional  charm,  though,  as  has  been 
truly  said,  "  the  people  of  Navan  have  turned 
their  backs  upon  it,"  and  from  scarce  a  spot 
in  the  town  itself  can  a  glimpse  od  either 
stream  be  had. 

Navan  has  a  past  decidedly  more  interesting 
than  its  present.  Its  ancient  patronymic  was 
Nuachongbhail,  and  it  was  one  of  the  earliest 
fortified  places  in  the  county  of  Meath.  Hugh 
de  Lacy  walled  it  around ;  but  remains  of  this 
work  have  now  almost  disappeared,  though 
there  are  still  somie  very  tangible  evidences  of 
the  "  earliest  style  of  fortifications  known  in 
Erin  "  in  the  Great  Moat  of  Navan. 

The  Round  Tower  of  Donaghmore,  the  most 
perfect  of  its  kind  in  Ireland,  and  the  ruins  of 
Donaghmore  church,  are  near  by.  Professor 
Flinders  Petrie  ascribes  the  date  of  the  tower 
to  the  tenth  century.  It  is  one  hundred  feet 
in  height,  and  its  base  circumference  is  sixty- 
six  and  a  half  feet.  He  further  describes  the 
remarkable  doorway  as  having  "  a  figure  of 
Our  Saviour,  crucified,  sculptured  in  relief  on 
its  keystone  and  the  stone  immediately  above 


The  Round  Tower,  Kelts 


The  Boyne  Valley  269 


it."  This  fact  should  establish  beyond  all 
doubt  that  the  motive  of  these  great  round 
towers  of  Ireland,  or  at  least  of  this  particular 
one,  was  Christian  and  not  pagan. 

One  is  bound  to>  visit  Kells  if  only  to  take 
cognizance  of  its  famous  market-cross.  Kells, 
in  the  county  of  Meath,  is,  or  should  be,  coup- 
led, in  the  minds  of  visitors,  with  the  name 
of  Tara.  They  have  nothing  in  common,  but 
they  are  neighbours,  and  properly  should  be 
seen  in  connection  with  each  other.  Tara  pre- 
sents, at  first  glance,  nothing  more  than  a 
small  conical  elevation  rising  above  the  Boyne ; 
but  its  memories  as  the  residence  of  the  mag- 
nificent Cormjac,  St.  Patrick,  the  Druids,  the 
law-givers,  the  bards,  and  all  the  ancient  pre- 
historic civilization  which  centred  around  it, 
are  very  great. 

Kells  is  a  dozen  or  more  miles  from  Tara, 
and  should  not  be  confounded  with  Kells  in 
Kilkenny.  Kells  was  granted  to  St.  Columba 
in  the  sixth  century,  and  a  small  house  still 
exists  which  is  fondly  believed  to  have  been 
either  the  oratory  or  the  residence  of  the  saint. 

In  the  market-place  of  Kells  was  built  a 
castle,  in  1178,  and  opposite  to  it  was  erected 


270 


Romantic  Ireland 


a  stone  cross,  reputedly  the  most  beautiful  of 
its  class  known.  As  to  just  what  was  the  pre- 
cise and  full  significance  of  these  famous 
crosses,  which  abound  in  Ireland,  authorities, 
self-styled  ecclesiastical  experts,  and  genuine 
archaeologists  alike,  fail  to  agree.  Certainly 
nothing  has  puzzled  people  more  than  the 
scenes  depicted  on  the  bases  of  some  of  the 
crosses.  At  Kells,  for  instance,  there  is,  on 
one  side  of  the  base,  a  hunting-scene,  where 
a  man  with  a  shield  and  spear,  preceded  by  a 
dog,  pursues  a  collection  of  animals,  among 
which  we  may  distinguish  two  stags,  a  pig,  a 
monstrous  bird,  and  three  other  animals.  On 
another  side  there  are  two  centaurs,  one  armed 
with  a  trident,  the  other  with  bow  and  arrow, 
and  having  a  bird  on  its  back.  There  also  is 
a  bird  with  a  fish  in  its  talons,  and  another 
bird  on  a  quadruped  of  some  kind.  On  the 
third  side  there  is  a  contest  between  foot- 
soldiers,  and  on  the  fourth  a  procession  of  four 
mounted  warriors. 

Primarily,  of  course,  the  significance  of 
these  crosses  was  Christian,  but  whether  or  not 
of  the  superstitious  order,  as  were  the  gar- 
goyles and  grotesque  water-spouts  seen  so 


THE  CROSS  OF  KELLS. 


The  Boyne  Valley  273 


frequently  on  continental  churches,  is  appar- 
ently a  matter  of  doubt. 

The  subjects  pictured  on  many  of  these 
crosses  can  hardly  be  assumed  to  be  Scriptural, 
and  are  certainly  not  appropriate  to  the  ideas 
of  Christian  art  of  our  own  time,  nor  indeed 
with  those  which  were  put  to  use  in  churches 
and  monasteries  in  the  Middle  Ages.  It  has 
been  suggested  that  they  represent  lingering 
pagan  notions  of  the  Happy  Otherworld  of  the 
Celts,  since  hunting  and  fighting  were  among 
their  principal  joys;  but  this  again  is  mere 
conjecture,  and,  though  pagan  influences  had 
perhaps  not  wholly  died  out  when  this  cross 
of  Kells  was  first  set  up,  it  is  hardly  likely 
that  pagan  enthusiasm  would  express  itself  on 
a  Christian  symbol. 

The  crosses  of  Monasterboice,  Kells,  Clon- 
macnois,  and  Durrow  were  all  either  in,  or 
on  the  very  border  of,  the  ancient  kingdom  of 
Meath,  and  may  perhaps  be  grouped  together 
as  belonging  to  a  local  school  which  ranked 
perhaps  above  all  others  in  the  magnitude  and 
beauty  of  its  sculpture. 

Many  other  crosses,  which  once  existed 
throughout  Ireland,  are  now  known  only  by 


274 


Romantic  Ireland 


a  broken  fragment  of  the  shaft,  or  a  base, 
which  may  or  may  not  preserve  the  inscrip- 
tion; and  it  seems  quite  probable  that  no 
ecclesiastical  centre  existed  which  did  not,  at 
one  time,  boast  of  its  Celtic  cross  standing  as 
a  dominant  monument  of  art  among  all  other 
memorials. 

The  great  question  which  the  antiquaries 
have  apparently  yet  to  settle  among  themselves 
is  as  to  whether  the  decoration  of  these  stone 
crosses,  so  different  from  other  sculptured  stone 
work  to  be  seen  in  churches  and  elsewhere,  is 
really  the  result  of  Celtic  inspiration,  or  not. 

It  certainly  is  partly  Roman  and  partly 
Byzantine  in  its  motive,  though  unquestion- 
ably the  development  of  the  idea  was  distinct- 
ively Celtic  or  Irish. 

From  ancient  records  one  learns  that  the 
Irish  craftsmen  first  worked  out  their  ideas,  not 
on  stone,  but  on  parchment,  and  that  these  were 
transferred  from  illuminated  MSS.  to  the 
crosses,  and  again  in  metal  work,  where  so 
many  similar  designs  are  seen. 

It  is  a  popular  supposition  that  these  motives, 
spirals,  frets,  and  interlaced  bands  originated 
in  Ireland  or  were  peculiar  to  Celtic  art.  But 


CROSSES  OF  CLONMACNOIS,  DONEGAL,  SLANE,  AND 
MOONE  ABBEY. 


The  Boyne  Valley  277 


really  the  origin  of  these  ornaments  and  their 
travels  from  one  country  to  another  show 
quite  the  contrary  to  be  the  case.  Investigation 
has  shown  that  early  civilization,  advancing 
along  primitive  trade  routes,  or,  more  gener- 
ally, on  the  lines  of  communication  between 
different  countries  or  races,  was  responsible 
for  the  diffusion  of  many  arts  that  have  been 
wrongly  ascribed  as  having  been  born  in  one 
locality  or  another.  Scandinavia,  Greece, 
Egypt,  and  even  farther  east,  all  contributed 
something,  no  doubt,  to  what  afterward  be- 
came known  as  Celtic  art;  just  how  much,  or 
by  what  process,  is  the  question  to  decide. 

At  any  rate,  the  result  achieved  by  the 
artisans  who  carved  these  ancient  Irish  crosses, 
whatever  may  have  been  their  source  of  inspira- 
tion, indicates  that  they  were  the  work  of  no 
"  'prentice  hand."  It  is  evident  that  no  mere 
underling  or  stone-cutter  chiseled  out  spiral, 
fret,  and  knot,  and  twisted  zoomorph,  which 
one  sees  on  these  crosses.  It  was  a  master- 
mind that  planned  and  a  master-hand  that  drew 
the  same  patterns  on  many  an  Irish  vellum. 
And  it  was  in  the  depth  of  the  dark  ages,  too, 
that  Ireland  set  this  bright  example  to  Europe. 


278 


Romantic  Ireland 


In  the  twelfth  century  one  of  her  books,  then 
perhaps  four  hundred  years  old,  compelled  the 
admiration  of  Gerald  of  Wales,  in  most  things 
her  detractor.  "  If  you  examine  the  drawings 
closely,"  he  says,  "  you  will  find  them  so  deli- 
cate and  exquisite,  so  finely  drawn,  and  the 
work  of  interlacing  so  elaborate,  while  the 
colours  with  which  they  are  illuminated  are  so 
blended,  and  still  so  fresh,  that  you  will  be 
ready  to  assert  that  all  this  is  the  work  of 
angelic,  and  not  human  skill/'  This  is  cer- 
tainly high  praise;  but,  within  its  limits,  the 
early  Irish  school  of  decorative  art,  in  its  best 
products,  whether  on  parchment,  metal,  or 
stone,  has,  of  its  kind,  been  hitherto  unsur- 
passed by  man. 

Though  the  market-cross  of  Kells  is  not 
perfectly  preserved  —  its  top  is  broken  off  — 
it  may  be  considered,  with  that  at  Monaster- 
boice,  to  be  a  remarkable  expression  of  the  art 
of  stone-carving.  There  are  a  notable  richness 
and  elaboration  of  detail  most  curious  and 
quite  unique. 

In  the  churchyard  are  three  other  crosses  of 
lesser  importance,  though  one  of  them  is  over 
eleven  feet  in  height. 


The  Boyne  Valley  281 


The  famous  "  Book  of  Kells,"  a  manuscript 
copy  of  the  Gospels  in  Latin,  dating  from  the 
eighth  century  and  described  as  the  "  most 
elaborately  executed  monument  (sic)  of  early 
Christian  art  now  extant,"  is  preserved  in  the 
library  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin. 

Xext  to  the  idyllic  and  vague  figure  of  Erin, 
and  the  more  definite,  but  still  apocryphal,  one 
of  St.  Patrick,  that  of  St.  Columba,  the  real 
founder  of  the  religious  community  of  Kells, 
stands  out  the  most  prominently.  To  his  era 
belonged  a  glorious  race  of  scholars,  all  of 
whom  gained  their  learning  from  the  many 
universities,  convents,  and  monasteries  which 
covered  the  island.  Among  those  most  prom- 
inent are  the  names,  first  of  all,  of  St.  Co- 
lumba, or  Columcille  (Dove  of  the  Cell)  ;  St. 
Columbanus:  St.  Gall,  who  evangelized  Hel- 
vetia ;  St.  Livinus,  who  suffered  martyrdom 
in  Flanders;  St.  Argobast,  who  became  Bishop 
of  Strasburg:  and  St.  Killian. 

Columba's  history  is  well  set  forth  in  sun- 
dry places,  and  is  too  extended  to  recount  here. 
Suffice  to  say  that  the  events  of  his  life  were 
most  dramatic,  and  his  attachment  to  learn- 


282 


Romantic  Ireland 


ing,  poetry,  and  literature,  in  particular,  most 
profound. 

Montalembert,  the  historian,  says: 

"  He  was  a  poet  and  writer  of  a  high  order 
of  genius,  and  to  an  advanced  period  of  his 
life  remained  an  ardent  devotee  of  the  muse, 
ever  powerfully  moved  by  whatever  affected 
the  weal  of  the  minstrel  fraternity.  His  pas- 
sion for  books  (all  manuscript,  of  course,  in 
those  days,  and  of  great  rarity  and  value)  was 
destined  to  lead  him  into  that  great  offence  of 
his  life,  which  he  was  afterward  to  expiate 
by  a  penance  so  grievous.  He  went  every- 
where in  search  of  volumes  which  he  could 
borrow  or  copy;  often  experiencing  refusals 
which  he  resented  bitterly." 

In  the  following  manner  occurred  what 
Montalembert  calls  "  the  decisive  event  which 
changed  the  destiny  of  Columba,  and  trans- 
formed him  from  a  wandering  poet  and  ardent 
bookworm  into  a  missionary  and  apostle." 

"  While  visiting  one  of  his  former  tutors, 
Finian,  he  found  means  to  copy  clandestinely 
the  abbot's  Psalter  by  shutting  himself  up  at 
nights  in  the  church  where  the  book  was  de- 
posited.   Indignant  at  what  he  considered  as 


The  Boyne  Valley  283 


almost  a  theft,  Finian  claimed  the  copy  when 
it  was  finished  by  Columba,  on  the  ground  that 
a  copy  made  without  permission  ought  to  be- 
long to  the  master  of  the  original,  seeing  that 
the  transcription  is  the  son  of  the  original 
book.  Columba  refused  to  give  up  his  work, 
and  the  question  was  referred  to  the  king  in 
his  palace  of  Tara." 

What  immediately  followed,  and  its  sequel, 
should  be  read  in  the  words  of  Montalembert. 
The  accusation  of  theft,  or  something  akin  to 
burglary,  was  followed  by  Columba's  with- 
drawal to  his  native  province  of  Tyrconnell, 
where  he  set  to  work  to  excite  the  natives  to 
proceed  against  King  Diarmid,  who  had  de- 
cided against  him. 

"  Diarmid  marched  to  meet  them  in  battle 
at  Cul-Dreimhne,  upon  the  borders  of  Ultonia 
and  Connacia.  He  was  completely  beaten,  and 
was  obliged  to  take  refuge  at  Tara.  The  vic- 
tory was  due,  according  to  the  annalist  Tigher- 
nach,  to  the  prayers  and  songs  of  Columba, 
who  had  fasted  and  prayed  with  all  his  might 
to  obtain  from  Heaven  the  punishment  of  the 
royal  insolence,  and  who,  besides,  was  present 


284  Romantic  Ireland 

at  the  battle,  and  took  upon  himself  before  all 
men  the  responsibility  of  the  bloodshed." 

As  for  the  manuscript  which  had  been  the 
object  of  this  strange  conflict  of  copyright, 
elevated  into  a  civil  war,  it  was  afterward 
venerated  as  a  kind  of  natural  military  and 
religious  palladium.  Under  the  name  of 
Cathach  or  Fightu,  the  Latin  Psalter  tran- 
scribed by  Columba,  enshrined  in  a  sort  of 
portable  altar,  became  the  national  relic  of  the 
O'Donnell  clan.  For  more  than  a  thousand 
years  it  was  carried  with  them  to  battle  as  a 
pledge  of  victory,  on  the  condition  of  being 
supported  on  the  breast  of  a  clerk  free  from  all 
mortal  sin. 

Still  struggling  with  a  stubborn  self-will, 
Columba  found  his  life  miserable,  unhappy, 
and  full  of  unrest;  yet  remorse  had  even  now 
"  planted  in  his  soul  the  germs  at  once  of  a 
startling  conversion  and  of  his  future  apostolic 
mission."  Various  legends  reveal  him  to  us  at 
this  crisis  of  his  life,  wandering  long  from 
solitude  to  solitude,  and  from  monastery  to 
monastery,  seeking  out  holy  monks,  masters 
of  penitence  and  Christian  virtue,  and  asking 
them  anxiously  what  he  should  do  to  obtain 


The  Boyne  Valley  285 


the  pardon  of  God  for  the  murder  of  so  many 
victims  as  was  caused  by  the  battle  of  Cul- 
Dreimhne. 

At  length,  after  many  wanderings  in  con- 
trition and  mortification,  "  he  found  the  light 
which  he  sought  from  a  holy  monk,  St.  Mo- 
laise,  famed  for  his  studies  of  Holy  Scripture, 
and  who  had  already  been  his  confessor. 

"  This  severe  hermit  confirmed  the  decision 
of  the  synod;  but,  to  the  obligation  of  con- 
verting to  the  Christian  faith  an  equal  num- 
ber of  pagans  as  there  were  of  Christians 
killed  in  the  civil  war,  he  added  a  new  con- 
dition, which  bore  cruelly  upon  a  soul  so  pas- 
sionately attached  to  country  and  kindred. 
The  confessor  condemned  his  penitent  to  per- 
petual exile  from  Ireland! 33 

This  was  more  hard  than  to  bare  his  breast 
to  the  piercing  sword;  less  welcome  than  to 
wallk  in  constant  punishment  and  suffering, 
so  long  as  his  feet  pressed  the  soil  of  his  wor- 
shipped Erin! 

But  it  was  even  so.  Thus  ran  the  sentence 
of  Molaise:  "Perpetual  exile  from  Ireland  1 33 

Staggered,  stunned,  struck  to  the  heart, 
Columba  could  not  speak  for  a  moment.  But 


286 


Romantic  Ireland 


Gjod  gave  him  in  that  great  crisis  of  his  life 
the  supreme  grace  to  bear  the  blow  and  em- 
brace the  cross  presented  to  him.  At  last  he 
spoke,  and  in  a  voice  choked  by  emotion  he 
answered:  "Be  it  so;  what  you  have  com- 
manded shall  be  done."  From  that  instant 
his  life  was  one  long  penitential  sacrifice.  For 
thirty  years  he  lived  and  laboured  in  the  dis- 
tant Iona,  and  the  fame  of  his  sanctity  and 
devotion  filled  the  world. 

As  a  farewell  gift  to  some  Irish  visitors  at 
Iona,  (Columba  presented  the  following  verses, 
deservedly  classed  among  the  world's  beautiful 
poetic  compositions.  The  literal  translation 
into  English  doubtless  loses  much  of  the  origi- 
nal beauty,  but  enough,  at  least,  is  left  to  in- 
dicate the  charm  of  the  original  Gaelic  thought 
and  sentiment. 

"  What  joy  to  fly  upon  the  white-crested  sea ;  and  watch 
the  waves  break  upon  the  Irish  shore ! 


"  My  foot  is  in  my  little  boat ;  but  my  sad  heart  ever 
bleeds ! 

"  There  is  a  gray  eye  which  ever  turns  to  Erin;  but  never 
in  this  life  shall  it  see  Erin,  nor  her  sons,  nor  her 
daughters  / 


The  Boyne  Valley  287 


"  From  the  high  prow  I  look  over  the  sea ;  and  great 
tears  are  in  my  eyes  when  I  turn  to  Erin  — 

"  To  Erin,  where  the  songs  of  the  birds  are  so  sweet,  and 
where  the  clerks  sing  like  the  birds ; 

"  Where  the  young  are  so  gentle,  and  the  old  are  so 
wise ;  where  the  great  men  are  so  noble  to  look  at, 
and  the  women  so  fair  to  wed ! 

"Young  traveller!  carry  my  sorrows  with  you;  carry 
them  to  Comgall  of  eternal  life ! 

"  Noble  youth,  take  my  prayer  with  thee,  and  my  bless- 
ing ;  one  part  for  Ireland  —  seven  times  may  she  be 
blest  —  and  the  other  for  Albyn. 

"  Carry  my  blessings  across  the  sea ;  carry  it  to  the  West. 
My  heart  is  broken  in  my  breast ! 

"  If  death  comes  suddenly  to  me,  it  will  be  because  of 
the  greatest  love  I  bear  to  the  Gael ! " 

It  was  to  the  rugged  and  desolate  Hebrides 
that  Columba  turned  his  face  when  he  accepted 
the  terrible  penance  of  perpetual  exile. 

Columba  did  return  to  Ireland,  as  history 
tells.  But,  though  this  may  be  traditional,  he 
returned  blindfolded.  "  The  Dove  of  the  Cell  " 
made  a  comparatively  long  stay  in  Ireland, 
visiting  with  scarf-bound  brow  the  numerous 
monastic  establishments  subject  to  his  rule. 


288 


Romantic  Ireland 


At  length  he  returned  to  Iona,  where,  far  into 
the  evening  of  life,  he  waited  for  his  summons 
to  the  beatific  vision.  The  miracles  he  wrought, 
attested  by  evidence  of  sufficient  weight  to 
move  the  most  callous  skeptic,  the  myriad  won- 
drous signs  of  God's  favour  that  marked  his 
daily  acts,  filled  all  the  nations  with  awe.  The 
hour  and  the  manner  of  his  death  had  long 
been  revealed  to  him.  The  precise  time  he 
concealed  from  those  about  him  until  close 
upon  the  last  day  of  his  life;  but  the  manner 
of  his  death  he  long  foretold  to  his  attendants. 
"  I  shall  die,"  he  said,  "  without  sickness  or 
hurt;  suddenly,  but  happily,  and  without  ac- 
cident." At  length  one  day,  while  in  his  usual 
health,  he  disclosed  to  Diarmid,  his  "  minis- 
ter," or  regular  attendant  monk,  that  the  hour 
of  his  summons  was  nigh.  A  week  before  he 
had  gone  around  the  island,  taking  leave  of 
the  monks  and  labourers;  and  when  all  wept, 
he  strove  anxiously  to  console  them.  Then  he 
blessed  the  island  and  the  inhabitants.  "  And 
now,"  said  he  to  Diarmid,  "here  is  a  secret; 
but  you  must  keep  it  till  I  am  gone.  This  is 
Saturday,  the  day  called  Sabbath,  or  day  of 
rest :  and  that  it  will  be  to  me,  for  it  shall  be 


The  Boyne  Valley  1289 


the  last  of  my  laborious  life."  In  the  even- 
ing he  retired  to  his  cell,  and  began  to  work 
for  the  last  time,  being  then  occupied  in  tran- 
scribing the  Psalter.  When  he  had  come  to 
the  thirty-third  Psalm,  and  the  verse,  "  In- 
quirentes  antem  Dominum  non  deficient  omni 
bono,"  he  stopped  short.  "  I  cease  here/'  said 
he;  "  Baithin  must  do  the  rest/' 

The  above  is  an  abridgment  of  Montalem- 
bert's  chronicle  which  must  be  accepted  as 
truthful.  It  certainly  is  as  profound  and  in- 
teresting an  account  of  Christian  martyrdom 
and  devotion  as  any  extant. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


BELFAST  AND  ARMAGH 

THE  stranger  to  Ireland  will  never  imag- 
ine, as  the  result  of  his  visit  to  Belfast, 
that  the  land  is  the  home  of  the  effete  civili- 
zation that  some  English  writers  would  have 
him  believe. 

Belfast,  more  than  all  other  centres  of  popu- 
lation in  Ireland,  more  even  than  Dublin,  the 
capital,  is  the  equal  of  any  city  of  its  size  in 
the  known  world  for  transportation  facili- 
ties of  a  thoroughly  up-to-date  order. 

This,  perhaps,  does  not  aid  in  any  way  in 
the  serious  contemplation  of  its  other  charms; 
but  it  is  a  significant  "  sign  of  the  times," 
nevertheless. 

Savants  will  tell  one  that  here,  at  the  head 
of  Belfast  Lough,  was  fought,  in  the  year  665, 
a  great  battle  between  the  Ulidians  and  the 
Cruthni.    This  event  is  sufficiently  remote  to 
290 


Belfast  and  Armagh  291 


have  lost  some  interest,  and  appears  somewhat 
lacking  in  appeal  in  view  of  what  happened 
afterward,  though  the  region  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  Belfast  does  not  abound  in  the 
wealth  of  interesting  shrines  which  exist  in 
most  other  parts  of  Ireland. 

John  de  Courcy  built  a  fortified  castle  here 
in  1 1 77,  after  Ulster  had  been  granted  to  him 
by  Henry  II.,  but  no  trace  of  it  remains  to- 
day. 

The  city  really  owes  its  rise,  however,  to*  the 
Scottish  settlers  who  came  here  in  large  num- 
bers in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centur- 
ies. Before  which  time,  says  one  writer,  "  the 
town  consisted  of  but  one  hundred  and  twenty 
odd  huts,  and  a  castle  roofed  with  shingles/' 

It  is  on  record  that  the  town  made  a  vigorous 
protest  against  the  execution  of  Charles  I.,  as 
might  have  been  expected  from  its  religious 
and  political  tendencies.  In  connection  with 
this  protest  the  usually  gentle  Milton  wrote 
contemptuously  concerning  "  the  blockish  pres- 
byters of  Clandeboye.  .  .  .  The  unhallowed 
priestlings  of  an  unchristian  synagogue." 

The  town  was  incorporated  in  161 3,  but  was 
only  given  civic  dignity  in  1888,  when  its  popu- 


292 


Romantic  Ireland 


lation  had  grown  to  250,000  from  its  previous 
minute  proportions.  The  name  of  the  city  is 
evolved  from  Bel,  a  ford  or  river-mouth,  and 
fearsal,  a  sand-bank. 

The  chief  features  of  interest  in  the  city- 
proper  are  unquestionably  its  attributes  of 
modernity.  With  such  aspects  this  book  has 
little  to  do.  This  is  not  so,  however,  with  its 
famous  flax  and  linen  industries,  made  familiar 
to  children  of  all  nations  in  their  very  earliest 
years,  when  they  are  given  for  playthings  the 
spools  or  bobbins  of  Barbour's  linen  thread, 
with  the  gaudy  end  label  picturing  the 
"  bloody  hand  of  Ulster." 

The  linen  industry  in  Ireland  can  be  traced 
as  far  back  as  12 16,  and,  in  the  reign  of  Henry 
III.,  the  spinning  of  linen  thread  was  estab- 
lished as  a  definite  branch  of  the  trade.  In 
1665  the  head  of  the  house  of  Ormonde,  the 
unfortunate  duke,  obtained  an  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment for  the  encouragement  of  the  industry. 

Up  to  1805  linen  yarns  appear  to  have  been 
universally  spun  by  hand.  Then  abortive  at- 
tempts were  made  to  introduce  machinery,  but 
it  was  only  after  1828,  when  the  industry  was 
freed  from  the  restrictive  legislation  which  had 


Belfast  and  Armagh  293 

been  in  force  since  Queen  Anne's  time,  that 
healthy  competition  among  enterprising  pri- 
vate firmjs  finally  did  away  with  hand  spin- 
ning. 

From  that  time  onward  the  Irish  linen  in- 
dustry developed  with  great  rapidity,  especially 
in  Belfast,  which  is  the  principal  seat  of  the 
trade  in  the  United  Kingdoms. 

The  chief  archaeological  treasures  of  Belfast 
are  Cave  Hill,  three  miles  north  of  the  city, 
which  is  a  curious  geological  formation  pos- 
sessing three  caves,  which  may  or  may  not 
have  more  than  a  geological  interest;  and 
"  the  Giant's  Ring,"  lying  to  the  southward 
near  Ballylesson.  This  latter  is  an  object  of 
antiquarian  regard,  consisting  of  a  great  cir- 
cular earthwork,  a  third  of  a  mile  or  more  in 
circumference,  which  encloses  a  mound  of  earth 
about  perhaps  eighty  feet  in  diameter. 

There  is  also  a  stone  altar,  or  cromlech,  as- 
signed by  some  to  druidical  inception,  and 
again  denied.  At  any  rate,  it  is  one  of  those 
curious  artificial  erections  in  which  the  British 
Isles  and  Brittany  abound,  and  its  actual  sig- 
nificance may  be  great  or  little.   It  is  impossi-  • 


294  Romantic  Ireland 


ble,  apparently,  for  the  doctors  to  agree  among 
themselves. 

There  is  also  a  castle  at  Belfast,  —  it's  an 
exceedingly  impoverished  town  in  Ireland  that 
hasn't  a  castle,  —  though  in  this  case  it  is 
merely  an  imposing  residence  dignified,  or 
glorified,  by  the  more  ancient  name.  It  has, 
however,  a  wonderful  outlook  over  the  lough, 
showing,  under  certain  conditions  of  the  atmos- 
phere, the  Scottish  coast  and  the  Isle  of  Man. 

It  is,  however,  the  note  of  modernity  alone 
which  sounds  in  Belfast,  as  one  might  naturally 
expect  of  a  city  which  has  now  reached  a  popu- 
lation of  around  four  hundred  thousand  souls 
and  has  doubled  its  numbers  in  thirty  years. 

One  industry  of  general  interest  in  these 
days  of  universal  travel  is  the  great  shipbuild- 
ing works  at  Queen's  Island.  Twelve  thou- 
sand hands  are  employed,  and  the  construction 
of  such  leviathans  as  the  great  White  Star 
liners,  the  Oceanic,  the  Celtic,  and  the  Baltic, 
of  a  tonnage  exceeding  twenty  thousand,  is  an 
art  of  which  their  builders  are  apparently  the 
sole  possessors. 

As  might  further  be  expected,  the  shipping 
trade  of  Belfast  is  considerable,  and  the  city 


Belfast  and  Armagh  295 


more  than  holds  its  own  in  progress  in  this 
line  with  any  in  the  three  kingdoms. 

Within  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Belfast  — 
at  least  within  the  area  of  the  great  city's  in- 
fluence —  is  the  sleepy  old  town  of  Carrick- 
fergus,  once  the  site  of  one  of  the  most  power- 
ful fortresses  in  Ireland.  Now  it  is  but  a 
memory,  so  far  as  its  impregnability  goes, 
though  its  remains  are  suggestive  enough  of 
the  position  it  once  occupied;  one  of  great 
strategic  value  when  the  means  of  ancient 
warfare  are  considered. 

If  the  "  bloody  hand  of  Ulster  "  should  ever 
grasp  firearms  and  enter  into  warfare  again, 
the  result  might  be  different  to  this  old  castle 
of  Carrickfergus,  one  of  the  few  in  Ireland 
which  are  not  claimed  as  having  belonged  to 
King  John. 

Southward  toward  Armagh  one  first  comes 
to  Lisburn,  noted  principally  for  its  great  dam- 
ask industry.  It  is  truly  enough  a  busy  manu- 
facturing town,  and  has  thrived  amazingly 
since  the  linen  manufacture  was  introduced  by 
the  Huguenots  who  fled  to  this  refuge  after 
the  Edict  of  Nantes. 

The  cathedral  here  contains  a  monument  to 


296 


Romantic  Ireland 


Jeremy  Taylor,  who  was  bishop  of  County 
Down.  Referring  to  Taylor's  tenure  in  Ire- 
land, it  has  been  the  custom  to  recount  it 
thus: 

"  Under  the  restoration  of  Charles  II.  he 
was  given  a  bishopric  in  the  wilds  of  Ireland, 
in  a  sour,  gloomy  country,  with  sour,  gloomy 
looks  all  around  hiim  .  .  .  which  broke  him  at 
the  age  of  fifty-five." 

Part  of  this  is  true,  the  latter  part,  but  it 
was  not  the  gloomy,  sour  wilds  around  Lis- 
burn  that  did  it,  for  the  whole  neighbourhood 
around  about  is  a  charming  place,  and  must 
have  been  then.  It  seems,  indeed,  always  to 
smile,  and,  though  possessed  of  no  great 
grandeur,  such  as  rugged  peaks  and  roaring 
waters,  it  in  every  way  fulfils  one's  idea  of 
a  busy  town,  charmingly  environed. 

Armagh  is  to-day  a  "  cathedral  town " 
which  possesses  two  cathedrals.  One  is  the 
ancient  and  venerable  cathedral  which  belongs 
to  the  Established  Church,  and  dates  from  the 
thirteenth  century ;  and  the  other  is  the  modern 
Roman  Catholic  Cathedral,  which  dates  only 
from  1873. 

Armagh  is  now,  as  it  always  has  been,  a 


Belfast  and  Armagh  297 


most  important  centre  of  religious  and  churchly 
activity. 

St.  Patrick  came  here  to  preach  the  gospel 
in  432,  and  a  quarter  of  a  century  later  founded 
the  Church  of  Armagh.  The  first  edifice  en- 
dured for  nearly  four  hundred  years  when  it 
was  sacked  by  the  Danes.  Reerected  again  in 
1268,  it  was  burned  by  Shane  O'Neill  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  and  rebuilt  and  again  burned 
inside  the  next  half-century.  The  final  re- 
building, or  rather  the  building  up  from  the 
old  fire-swept  remains  of  the  ancient  structure, 
took  place  at  the  instigation  and  expense  of 
the  Primate  Margetson.  Armagh  is  one  of 
the  metropolitan  sees  of  Ireland,  Dublin  being 
the  other;  but  the  Archbishop  of  Armagh  is 
Primate  of  Ireland. 

The  chief  centre  of  interest  in  Armagh  lies 
with  the  church  and  its  foundation,  though, 
of  itself,  Armagh  is  what  many  other  towns 
of  as  great  promise  are  not,  —  a  charmingly 
unspoiled  old-world  spot  which,  in  spite  of  the 
advent  of  the  steam  railway,  the  telegraph,  and 
the  telephone,  apparently  conducts  its  daily  life 
much  as  it  did  three-quarters  of  a  century  ago. 

It  is  a  well-kept  little  city  or  town,  with  no 


298 


Romantic  Ireland 


great  evidences  of  modern  improvements, 
though  nowhere  are  there  any  indications  of 
squalor  or  decay. 

In  the  year  685  Aldfred,  son  of  Ossory,  be- 
came King  of  Northumberland.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  Armagh,  then  a  world-famed  school 
of  learning,  and  had  written  some  verses  in 
the  Irish  tongue  descriptive  of  his  impressions 
of  Ireland. 

Translated  into  English  his  descriptions 
might  apply  to-day. 

"  I  travelled  its  fruitful  provinces  round, 
And  in  every  one  of  the  five  I  found, 
Alike  in  church  and  in  palace  hall, 
Abundant  apparel,  and  food  for  all." 

This  sounds  to-day  somewhat  like  triviality. 
Perhaps,  however,  it  has  lost  some  of  its  vir- 
tues by  translation.  Another  stanza  reads 
somewhat  more  melodiously: 

11  I  found  in  Meath's  fair  principality 
Virtue,  vigour,  and  hospitality ; 
Candour,  joyfulness,  bravery,  purity, 
Ireland's  bulwark  and  security." 


THE  END. 


Index 


Achill  Island,  161-173,  185. 
Achill  Sound,  167. 
Achill-beg,  168. 
Adamnan,  St.,  200,  201. 
dingus,  159. 

Aillach,  Grianan  of,  213-214. 
Albeus,  Saint,  153-154. 
Alfred  the  Great,  17,  201. 
"  Alice  and  Una,"  58-61. 
All  Saints'  Island,  126. 
Anne,  Queen,  293. 
Annesley,  Earl  of,  245. 
Antrim,  224,  225,  231. 
Antrim,  Lord,  212. 
Aran  Islands,  153-160. 
Ardglass,  240. 
Ardkyne  Castle,  158. 
Argobast,  St.,  281. 
Armagh,  159,  245,  295-298. 

Archbishop  of,  234. 
Arra  Mountains,  116. 
Athlone,  1 19-120,  123,  152. 
Athy  Family,  138. 
Auburn,  120-125. 

The  "  Three  Pigeons,"  123- 
125. 

Baliol,  226. 
Ballina,  186-187. 


Ballylesson,  293. 
Ballynasheera  Castle,  1 16. 
Ballyshannon,  190. 
Bantry,  45-46. 

Bantry  Bay,  5,  40,  43"46,  53, 
54,  57,  67,  68,  84,  232. 

Barms,  Saint,  16. 

Battle  of  the  Boyne,  120, 
248-250. 

Bear  Island,  43. 

Bective  Abbey,  265. 

Belfast,  231,  236,  239,  290- 
295. 

Cave  Hill,  293. 

Giant's  Ring,  293. 

Queen's  Island,  294. 
Belfast  Lough,  240,  290. 
Bell   of    St.  Bronach,  236- 

237. 
Belleek,  190. 

"  Bells  of  Shandon,  The,"  8- 
13- 

Ben  Hill,  116. 
Benbaun,  182, 
Benen,  St.,  158-159. 
Benwee,  185. 
Bere,  45,  46. 

Bere  Island  (see  Bear  Island). 
Berehaven,  43,  59. 


299 


3°° 


Index 


Biscay  an  Bay,  87. 
Black  Bull  Head,  84. 
Black  Sod  Bay,  165,  185. 
Black  Valley,  62,  68,  76-79, 
188. 

Blackvvater,  The,  260,  266. 
Blake  Family,  138. 
Blarney,  21,  25. 

Castle  (Blarney  Stone),  21, 

25-30- 

Lakes,  25. 
Blasquetts,  The,  95. 
Bloody  Bridge,  246. 
Bloody  Foreland,  202. 
Boate,  115. 
Bodkin  Family,  138. 
Bolus  Head,  87. 
Boru,  Brian  (see  Brian  Boru). 
Boucicault,  75. 
Boyle,  128. 
Boyle,  The,  127. 
Boyne,  The,  232,  234,  248- 

251,   252,   254,   260,  265, 

266,  269. 
Boyne,   Battle   of   the  (see 

Battle  of  the  Boyne). 
Bray  Head,  87. 
Bregia,  254. 
Brian  Boru,  106-113. 
Brian,  Brother,  17. 
"  Bridal  of  the  Year,"  58. 
Bridge    of    the    Ford  (see 

Drogheda). 
Brow  Head,  40. 
Browne  Family,  138. 
Bruce,  Edward,  234-235. 
Bruce,  Robert,  226,  234. 
Brugh,  253. 
Bundoran,  195. 
"  Burial    of   King  Cormac, 

The,"  253. 
Bushmills,  215. 
Butler,  16. 


Cahirciveen,  95. 

Cairns,  William,  212. 

Callanan,  37. 

Camden,  254. 

Campsie,  Henry,  212. 

Cape  Clear,  40. 

Carew,  Sir  George,  46,  48,  49. 

Carews,  The,  33. 

Carlingford,  237-238. 

Castle,  237-238,  239. 
Carlingford  Lough,  235-240, 

246. 

Carlingford  Mountains,  235, 

240. 
Carnot,  44. 
Carolan,  128. 
Carrick,  199. 
Carrick-a-Rede,  226-230. 
Carrickfergus,  295. 
Carrick-on-Shannon,  106,  127, 

189. 

Carrigaline  River,  7. 
Cashel,  153. 
Castle  of  Ardkyne,  158. 
Castle  of  Bally nasheera,  116. 
Castlebar,  186. 
Castletown,  43,  44,  46. 
Castlewellan,  245,  246. 
Cavan,  St.,  160. 
Charlemagne,  18. 
Charles  I.,  15,  291. 
Charles  II.,  296. 
Claddagh,  134,  146,  147,  148. 
Claire,  County,  114. 
Clare  Island,  173-174. 
Clarke,  44. 
Cleitach,  252. 
Clew  Bav,  165,  173. 
Clifden, '177,  178,  181. 
Cloghereen,  62. 
Clonmacnois,  Cross  of,  273. 
Cloyne,  16,  17. 
Coleraine,  215,  223. 


Index 


301 


Colleen  Bawn  Caves,  72. 
"Colleen  Bawn,  The,"  15,  72. 
Colman,  St.,  16. 
Colpa,  232. 

Columba,  St.,  201,  254,  269, 

281-289. 
Columbanus,  St.,  281. 
Columbkille,  St.,  200,  201,  206, 

208. 

Coman,  St.,  126. 
Conal,  St.,  200. 
Coningham,  Alexander,  212. 
Coningham,  John,  212. 
Connacia,  283. 

Connaught,  16,  116,  120,  148, 

I49»  153*  IS9>  263. 
Connemara,    132,    147,  169, 

174-181. 
Connolly,  John,  33. 
Corcaig  (see  Cork). 
Cork,  1,  5-25,  26,  30,  33,  34, 

37,  40,  67,  146,  153. 

Abbey  of  St.  Finbarr,  17. 

Christian  Brothers,  Monas- 
tery of  the,  15. 

Cork  University,  17. 

Patrick,  St.,  21. 

Shandon  Bells,  8-15. 

Shandon  Hill,  11. 

St.  Anne  Shandon,  Church 
of,  8-15. 

St.  Joseph's  Cemetery,  21. 
Cormac,  26,  29,  251-254,  269. 
Cove  (see  Queenstown). 
Croagh,  Patrick,  165. 
Croghan,  167. 
Cromwell,  Henry,  129. 
Cromwell,    Oliver,    99,  116, 

158,  233,  234,  235,  248,  264. 
Crookshanks,  William,  212. 
Croom,  Plain  of,  30. 
Crosshaven,  7. 
Crosshaven  Ring,  6. 


Cul-Dreimhne,  283,  285. 
Cumber,  211. 

D'Arcy  Family,  138. 
Dangan  Castle,  263. 
Dante's  u  Inferno,"  229. 
De  Courcy,  224,  237,  243,  244, 
291. 

De  Lacy  Family,  263. 
De   Lacy,   Hugh,  240,  265, 
266. 

Deane  Family,  138. 

Demesne,  68. 

Derry  (see  Londonderry). 

"  Deserted     Village,  The," 

123-125. 
Desmond,  34-37. 

Prince  of,  71. 
Desmond,  King  of  Munster, 

Dhade  Mountain,  57. 
Diarmid,  King,  283. 
Diarmid,  St.,  288. 
Dingle,  95. 

Dingle  Bay,  5,  40,  67,  87,  95, 
96. 

Dingle  Mountains,  95. 
Dingley,  Mrs.,  264. 
Donaghmore  Church,  266. 
Donaghmore,  Round  Tower 

of,  266-269. 
Donegal,  194-202. 

Castle,  196. 
Donegal  Bay,  189,  194,  202. 
Donegal  Highlands,  189. 
Donnybrook  Fair,  95. 
Donard  Lodge,  245. 
Dooagh,  168. 
Dore,  Gustave,  223. 
Down,  County,  211,  231,  240, 

296. 

Downpatrick,  240-244. 
Downpatrick  Head,  18^. 


302 


Index 


Drake,  Sir  Francis,  7. 

Drake's  Pool,  7. 

Drogheda,  232-234,  248,  249, 

251,  259,  260. 

Gates,  233. 

Magdalen  Steeple,  233. 
Mill  Mount,  234. 
Droiceheadatha     (see  Dro- 
gheda). 

Dublin,   22,   157,   231,  232, 

236,   245,   248,   249,  265, 

290,  297. 

University,  103. 
Dugort,  168-173. 
Dun  iEngus,  159. 
Dun  Oghil,  160. 
Dunboy  Castle,  46-49. 
Dundalk,  234-235. 
Dundrum  Bay,  240. 
Dungarvan,  17. 
Dunloe,  76. 

Castle,  62. 
Dunloe,  Gap  of  (see  Gap  of 

Dunloe). 
Dunluce  Castle,  223-225. 
Dunottar  Castle,  226. 
Dunseverick,  223. 
Durrow  Castle,  265. 
Durrow,  Cross  of,  273. 
Dursly  Head,  84. 
Dursly  Island,  84. 
Dutton,  139. 

Eagle's  Nest,  34,  62,  72. 
Edna,  St.,  159. 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  120. 
Emania,  106,  254. 
Emely,  153. 
Enchanted  Isles,  165. 
Engus,  King,  153. 
Enna,  St.,  154. 
Enniskillen,  189-190,  239. 
Eriff,  The,  178. 


Erne,  The,  189. 
Eunan,  St.,  200. 

Falls  of  Erne,  190. 

Fastnet,  54,  84. 

Ferguson,  253. 

Fingal,  257. 

Fin  M'Coul,  221-222. 

Fin  MacComhol,  257. 

Finbarr,  St.,  16,  34,  153. 

Finian,  St.,  282-283. 

FitzStephen,   James  Lynch, 

132,  139-143- 
FitzStephen,    Walter,  132, 

I39-H3- 
FitzThomas,  Edmond  Lynch, 

139- 

"Fleet  in  Being,  A,"  185. 
French  Family,  138. 
French,  John,  143. 

Gall,  St.,  281. 

Galway,  2,  129-152,  157,  178, 
181. 

Bridge,  137. 

Lombard  St.,  140. 

St.  Nicholas's  Church,  140. 

West  Bridge,  139. 
Galway  Bay,  40,  151. 
Galway  County,  114,  139,  143, 

146,  174. 
Gap  of  Dunloe,  62,  68,  76. 
Garvan,  Brother,  17. 
George  II.,  250. 
George  IV.,  178. 
Gerald  of  Wales,  278. 
Ghoban  the  Smith,  234. 
Giant's   Causeway,  214-223, 

226,  231. 
Glengarriff,  43,  49-57,  60,  61, 

67. 

Glenmana,  110. 

Goldsmith,  Rev.  Charles,  123. 


Index 


Goldsmith,  Oliver,  120-125. 

Gordon,  212. 

Gougane  Barra,  34-38. 

Grand  Canal,  119. 

Grania  Uaile  (see  O'Malley, 

Grace). 
Greencastle,  239. 
Greenore,  238-240. 
Grianan  of  Aillach,  213-214. 
Griffin,  Gerald,  15. 

Hallam,  17. 
Harris,  16,  244. 
Harvey,  Samuel,  212. 
Haulbowline,  6. 
Haverty,  251. 
Heber,  232. 

Henry  II.,  15,  263,  291. 
Henry  III.,  292. 
Heramon,  232. 
Hoche,  General,  44. 
Humbert,  General,  186. 
Hungry  Hill,  57. 
Hunt,  Samuel,  212. 

Imbbar   Colpa    (see  Dro- 
gheda). 

Imbbar  Sceine   (see  Bantry 
Bay). 

Imishmaan  Island,  154. 
Inch,  244. 

Inchbonin  Island,  126. 
Inchcleraun  Island,  125. 
Inisheer  Island,  154,  160. 
Inishglora  Island,  165. 
Inishkea  Island,  165. 
Inishkeenah  Island,  165. 
Inishmore  Island,  154. 
Innisfail,  87,  88. 
Innisf alien,  62,  64-67,  1 54. 
Innocent  III.,  11. 
Ireton,  116. 
Irwin,  Alexander,  212. 


Island  of  the  White  Cow, 
126. 

"Jack  Hinton,"  119. 
James  I.,  190,  206. 
James  II.,  44,  115,  211,  249- 
250. 

John,  King,  33,  99,  120,  237, 

238,  263,  295. 
Johnson,  17,  18. 
Johnston,  Sir  Harry,  161. 
Jordan's  Castle,  240. 
Joyce  Family,  138. 

Keel,  168. 

Keim-an-eigh,  58,  60,  61. 

Kells  (Kilkenny),  266. 

Kells  (Meath),  260,  265,  269- 

270,  281. 

Book  of,  281. 

Cross  of,  269-273,  278. 
Kenmare,  67-68. 
Kenmare  River,  40,  68. 
Kerry,  County,  67,  174,  232. 
Kevin,  St.,  160. 
Kilbronan,  127. 
Kilbroney,  236-237. 
Kilcummin,  186. 
Kildare,  County,  248,  251. 
Kildavnet  Castle,  167. 
Kilkenny,  126,  269. 
Kill  Aladh,  186. 
Killala,  186. 
Killala  Bay,  185-187. 
Killaloe,   104,  106,  1 1 3-1 14, 

115. 

Cell  of  St.  Lua,  113. 
Killarney,  30,  62-83,  231- 
Killarney  Lakes,  43,  62,  68, 

72-75- 

Killary  Harbour,  178-181. 
Killian,  St.,  281. 
Killowen,  246. 


Index 


Killybegs,  196,  199. 
Kilmurvy,  160. 
Kincardineshire,  226. 
Kincora,  1 06-1 13. 
Kipling,  Rudyard,  54,  84,  185. 
Kirk,  Admiral,  213. 
Kirwan  Family,  138. 
Knightstown,  91-92. 
Knockcroghery  Bay,  126. 
Kohl,  130,  219-220,  249. 

Lake  of  Shadows  (see  Lough 

Swilly). 
Lanesborough,  127. 
Laracar,  264-265. 
Lee,  The,  6,  8,  37,  76. 
Leenane,  178,  182. 
Leinster,  109. 
Lever,  Charles,  119. 
Liffey,  The,  257. 
Limerick,  96-103,  106. 

Castle,  99,  120. 
Lisadell,  188. 
Lisburn,  295. 
Lishoy  (see  Auburn). 
Livinus,  St.,  281. 
Locahan  (see  Finbarr,  St.). 
Londonderry,   206,  207-213, 

239- 

Cathedral,  208. 

Gates  of,  208,  212,  233. 
Long  Range,  The,  72. 
Longford,  County,  124. 
Longworth,  Miss,  246-247. 
Lough  Carib,  177-178. 
Lough  Derg,  106,  114-116. 
Lough  Eire,  16. 
Lough  Erne,  189. 
Lough  Foyle,  205-206. 
Lough  Glendalough,  182. 
Lough  Leane,  64,  72. 
Lough  Ree,  119,  120,  125. 
Lough  Swilly,  57,  205. 


Louis  XIV.,  16. 
Lover,  260. 
Ludlow,  General,  75. 
Lynch  Family,  138,  139. 
Lynch,  Gorman,  139. 

M'Carthy,  58-61. 
McCarthy  Mor,  71. 
McCarthys,  The,  71. 
M'Coul,  Fin,  221-222. 
M'Donald,  Colonel,  224,  225. 
M'Quillan,  224,  225. 
Macaulay,  Lord,  17,  53,  211. 
MacCarthy,     Cormac  (see 

Cormac). 
MacCarthys,  The,  33. 
MacDonnells  of  Antrim,  224, 

225. 

MacFoin,  Ossine,  166. 

MacGeoghegan,  46-49. 

MacGillicuddy's  Reeks,  68, 
75-76. 

Macroom,  30-34. 

Maelmurra,  Prince  of  Lein- 
ster, 109-110. 

"  Maga,"  170. 

Maguires,  The,  190. 

Mahony,  Rev.  Francis  (see 
Prout,  Father). 

Malin  Beg,  199. 

Malin  Head,  205. 

Mallow,  34. 

Manners,  Lord  John,  91-92. 
Margetson,  297. 
Marlborough,  Duke  of,  II. 
Marmion,  Anthony,  232-233. 
Martin  Family,  138. 
Mathew,  Father,  18,  21. 
Mayo,  147,  161,  169,  185. 
Meath,   263,  265,  266,  269, 
273- 

Meave,  Queen,  126,  148- 
149. 


Index 


Melleek,  116. 
Milesius,  232. 
Milton,  291. 

Misgoun  Meave,  148-149. 
Mizen  Head,  40. 
Molaise,  St.,  285. 
Monasterboice,  259-260,  273, 
278. 

Monk,  General,  235. 

Monk's    Robe    Island  (see 

Innisf  alien). 
Monmouth,  Rosa  de,  265. 
Montalembert,  282-284,  2&9- 
Moore,  Thomas,  67,  87-88, 

258-259. 
Morris  Family,  138. 
Morrison,  Robert,  212. 
Morrogh,  110. 

Mount   Alexander,  Earl  of, 

211.  * 
Mourne  Abbey,  246. 
Mourne  Mountains,  240,  246. 
Mourne  Park,  246. 
Moy,  The,  186,  187. 
Muadas,  The,  186. 
Muckross,  62,  71. 

Muckross  Abbey,  68,  71-72, 
75- 

Muckross  Lake,  72. 
Munster,  15,  75,  116,  153. 
Muredach,  186. 
Murphy,  Pat,  246. 
Murphys,  The,  44.  ( 
Muskau,  Prince  Puckler,  50. 
Muskerry,  33. 

Nad-na-nillar    (see  Eagle's 
Nest). 

Nangle,  Rev.  Edward,  170- 
*73- 

Narrow  Water  Castle,  240. 
Navan,  265-266. 
Great  Moat,  266. 


Neath,  201. 
Nessan,  St.,  16. 
Newcastle,  245-246. 
Newman,  17. 
Newry,  235,  240. 
Nial,  King,  200. 

O'Brien,  Fitz-James,  103. 
O'Brien  of  Thomond,  113. 
O'Cahans,  The,  223. 
O'Connell,  Daniel,  95. 
O'Connor,  T.  P.,  150-152. 
O'Donnell,  The,  284. 
O'Donoghues,  The,  71,  75. 
O'Halloran,  166. 
O'Kanes,  The,  223. 
O'Mahony,  Denis,  34. 
O'Malley,  Grace,  167,  174. 
O'Melaghlin,  265. 
O'Neill,  Shane,  297. 
O'Neills,  The,  207,  224. 
O'Sullivan  Mor,  71. 
O'Sullivans,  The,  44,  45. 
Ormonde  Family,  292. 
Ossian,  166. 
Oughterard,  177. 

Pallas,  124. 

Patrick,  St.,  114,  126,  153, 
187,  235,  243-244,  259,  264, 
269,  281,  297. 

Paxton,  Sir  Joseph,  193. 

Penn,  William,  18,  33. 

Penn,  Admiral  Sir  William, 
33- 

Percy,  Thomas,  244. 
Petrie,  Hindes,  Dr.,  159. 
Portrush,  215,  223. 
Portumna,  11 5-1 16. 
Power,  Captain,  49. 
Prout,  Father,  8-13,  26,  27, 
28. 

Purple  Mountain,  62. 


306 


Index 


Quaker  Island.  125. 
Queenstown,  1-8,  84,  91. 

The  Beach,  2. 
Quoile,  The,  243. 

Raphoe,  200. 
Rathlin  Island,  226. 
Recess,  177,  181-182. 
Richard  II.,  234. 
Rindown  Castle,  125. 
Rioch,  St.,  126. 
Rocky  Island,  6. 
Roden,  Earl  of,  245. 
Roderic,  King  of  Connaught. 
263. 

Roscommon,  119,  126. 
Ross  Castle,  75. 
Ross-na-Ri,  253. 
Rostellan  Castle,  6. 
Rostrevor,  235-236,  246,  247. 
Catholic  Chapel,  236. 

Sackville,  Lionel,  250. 
Sarsfield,  General,  99. 
Schomberg,  250. 
Schull,  40. 

Scott,  Sir    Walter,  71,  125, 

206,  225. 
Screen,  Church  of,  257. 
Shannon,  The,  40,  100,  103- 

128,  166,  189. 

Bridge,  119. 

Harbour,  119. 
Sheep's  Head,  40. 
Sherrard,  Robert,  212. 
Skelligs  Rocks,  87,  96. 
Skerret  Family,  138. 
Slea  Head,  95. 
Sleivemore,  167. 
Sliabhna-goil,  57. 
Slieve    Aughty  Mountains, 

116. 

Slieve  Donard,  245. 


Slieve  League,  195,  196,  199- 
200. 

Slieve-na-Slat,  246. 
Sligo,  148,  187-193. 

Abbey,  193. 

County,  187. 
Speed,  254. 
Spenser,  6. 
Spike  Island,  6. 
Spike,  James,  212. 
St.  Patrick's  Purgatory,  114- 

115. 

Stags  of  Broadhaven,  185. 
Station  Island,  114. 
44  Stella,"  264-265. 
Stevenson,  R.  L.,  64. 
Steward,  James,  212. 
Sugar  Loaf  Mountain,  57. 
Swift,  Dean,  235,  264-265. 

Tara,  106,  251-259,  260,  265, 

269,  283. 

Psalter  of,  252. 
Taylor,  Jeremy,  244,  296. 
Taylor,  Thomas,  48. 
Teelin  Head,  199, 
Temple  Brecan,  160. 
Temple  MacDuagh,  160. 
Thackeray,  49-50. 
Thomond,  113. 
Tighernach,  283. 
Tipperary,  County,  114. 
Toberclare.  123. 
Tollymore  Park,  245. 
Tone,  Theobald  Wolfe,  44- 

45- 

Tore  Lake,  72. 

Tore  Mountain,  62,  75. 

Tore  Waterfall  (or  Cascade), 

62,  75. 
Tory  Island,  202,  205. 
Tredagh  (see  Drogheda). 
Trim,  260-265. 


Index 


307 


Tuatha  de  Danaan,  Princes 

of,  87. 
Turgesius,  125,  233. 
Twelve  Bens,  The,  181,  182. 
Tyrconnel,  224. 
Tyrconnel,  Lady,  249-250. 
Tyrell,  Captain,  48. 
Tyrrey,  Dominick,  II. 

Ulster,  154,  207,  224,  239, 
240,  243,  245,  254,  291,  292, 
295. 

Ultonia,  283. 

Valentia  Island,  87-95. 
Valley  of  the  Black  Pig,  187- 
188. 

Venerable  Bede,  201. 
"Vicar  of  Wakefield,  The," 
123. 


Victoria  Lock,  116. 
Victoria,  Queen,  5. 

Walker,  213. 
Walton,  Izaak,  190. 
Warbeck,  Perkin  15. 
Waterford,  17,  247,  249. 
Wellington,  Duke  of,  88. 
Wells  of  Struell,  244. 
Westmeath,  119. 
Westport,  177. 
Whiddy  Island,  45. 
Wicklow,  22,  160. 
Wilkie,  Sir  David,  53. 
William  of  Orange,  99,  120, 

249-250. 
Windy  Gap,  68. 
Woodford,  116. 

Yeats,  W.  B.,  64,  187-188. 
Yelverton,  Major,  246-247. 


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